All's Fair
by manic-intent
Summary: ..Complete.. DMC didn't happen. On the voyage back from his promotion ceremony to Rear Admiral in England, James grudgingly agrees to a bet. AU, BeckettxNorrington, OCs.
1. Bets

Author's note: for a lighter beckington. AU. The hurricane and DMC never occurred. And I am reusing OC characters from Guardian Angel even though this fic has nothing to do with GA. / yeah, it's a bad habit. Also, I have the additional bad habit of being too lazy to do sufficient research, so I'm sorry if the (mild) OCD seems very unlikely.

1

Bets

"I am _so _bored."

James arched an eyebrow. "You're the one who insisted on accompanying me to England."

"You're the one who had to get promoted in England." Petulant.

"Now, sister, James can't help it if the Royal Navy has inconvenient covenants."

James rolled his eyes and pointedly turned his attention back to the helm. The EIC frigate _Stormy Petrel_ was sweet to the touch, but for what could be his last chance at captaincy before he settled into the duties of a Rear Admiral in Port Royal, he would have far preferred to be on his _Dauntless_. His. No longer his, technically. Admirals didn't _captain_ ships (so difficult to remember, especially since his… the… warship was clearly in sight, majestic, to the right, an intimidating escort). Unfortunately, necessity dictated that…

"He's sulking again, Victor."

"That's been obvious since Southampton, Kathie."

"I _could_ go back to the _Dauntless_, you know," James growled. The twins were bored, and when they were bored, they were trouble (James recalled, with a faint shudder, the one time they had decided to pull an elaborate prank involving soap, horsehair and lemons, on the fat and aged Lord Amberly, in Port Royal, in the fort. That had taken a _week_ for him to clear up all misunderstandings to his satisfaction, with the terrible two smirking behind him all the while). He spared them a brief, withering glance.

Both in their late twenties, Lady Katherine Tembury-Lysander was a beauty by any bar that society might care to set. Wheat-gold hair was in a wild, silky tumble about slender shoulders encased in the white lace frill of her sea-green dress, embroidered with startlingly elaborate designs of cockatrices. A confection of white gold and sapphires nestled at a pale throat, the same hue as dancing ice-blue eyes set over delicate cheekbones. Rosebud lips were drawn in a little pout behind a lacy fan, snapped open and shut by white-gloved hands stitched with their family crest.

Nature had also seen fit to bestow her brother, Lord Victor Tembury-Lysander, with equal gifts. His pale blond hair was neatly bound at his skull with a blue ribbon, the trailing ends mingling with the soft cream scarf about his neck that the wind tugged behind him. Elegantly sculpted, firm jaw and the same delicate cheekbones as his sister, sensuous lips curved in a wry smile, identical, expressive blue eyes. His coat was the same hue as his sister's dress – under that he wore a white shirt, its elaborate cuffs brushing black gloves stitched with a family crest. Pale brown breeches of the softest leather, and embroidered bucket-topped boots were crossed casually atop the other.

Lounging against the rail, both looked like any young members of the English nobility, out for a jaunt on the high seas. If one ignored the discreet crests on their gloves, and the casual air of confident power that they emanated, or this very frigate.

"That's no way to talk to an Earl," Lord Victor said with playful reproach.

"Perhaps if you _acted_ like an Earl," James muttered. Only two days out from Southampton, and he could feel the building mischief. No longer a stranger to the silent cues that passed as a form of communication between the twins (a brush of the elbow, a slight weight shift, a tilt of the head) – so much part of their interaction as siblings that it was almost subconscious for them now – he could tell that they were on the verge of another madcap suggestion.

He had been dreading that for a while – the twins had been (for them) actually on good behavior on the trip to England (except for a few minor incidents), and once in England, had been too busy with East India Company business and various lines of politics to misbehave. Now, however, flush from political triumphs in England, James knew that to celebrate, they were going to let out their inner children, in a way to create as much mayhem as possible. In his presence.

And it would not be pretty.

At New York, he was going back to the _Dauntless_.

If he survived the trip with sanity intact.

_Damnit_.

"You wound me," said the young Earl of Southsend, even managing to sound hurt.

"Good."

"It's certainly no way to talk to your future brother-in-law." Katherine grinned.

"I question why I agreed every day. Sometimes more than once." James retorted.

After Elizabeth married Turner, James found that he seemed to have lost any interest or inclination in forming lasting relationships, concentrating instead on his career and assuaging the occasional need with whores, or with the occasional discreet subordinate. His peaceful life, however, marked as it was by the occasional soiree that Governor Swann saw fit to inflict on Port Royal, had become more and more harried by wealthy merchants or petty Lords attempting to marry daughters off to the next Admiral of Jamaica.

Around that point, the demands of Lord Sythe of the East India Company for Naval aid in merchant endeavors became louder and more outrageous. The man was senile, James had decided, after one too many vituperate interviews. But unfortunately, he held much clout in England. Just as the situation was really becoming inconvenient…

"And we did you so very many favors," Katherine pouted. "That distasteful Lord Sythe."

"You both said he was a threat to your influence in Montserrat," James said mildly, and more quietly, aware that they were, after all, in public, and some things, even if one was affiliated to or _was _the Earl of Southsend (and one of the most powerful Lords in the East India Company), one still had to have a care for potential scandal. "I was probably only collateral."

"Very charming collateral," Katherine said, with a wink. "It's really a pity, you know, that you won't…"

"If you try any antics right now, I _am_ going to return to the _Dauntless_ even if I have to swim."

"I don't know, James. It's probably very cold down there." Victor glanced over the rail with studied innocence.

The newly appointed Rear Admiral sighed. Of all the people in the world with whom he had the mind to agree to a marriage of convenience, he had chosen these. At that time, he had been a little light-headed on cognac, gratitude for the resolution of the Lord Sythe problem and awe at their blue blood, but that was really a poor excuse. Objectively. _They_ had needed a marriage to stifle gossip over Katherine's (and Victor's, actually) little flings, real or constructed by the societal mongers, _he_ had (vaguely) wanted a solution to the little problem of feminine pursuit by eligible daughters. At that time, it seemed very logical and reasonable to agree.

Besides, although he would never admit it to them (or he would never have any peace, for the rest of his life), James rather liked the twins. He had never had siblings, himself. That didn't mean he _trusted _them, of course. Especially if it came to doing anything sensible, outside of their little games in power in the name of the East India Company.

"I know! Why not we have a little bet?" Katherine said, with a dazzling smile. "That'd be fun, wouldn't it?"

A little toss of hair, a slight twitch of the little finger. James often wondered if the twins knew that he had long decrypted their silent language, or if it was so integral to the siblings that they couldn't stop even if they tried. Right on cue, Victor said, doubtfully, "What dare?"

"We have lots of Lords and Ladies on this luxury ship who'd be dropping off in the New World," Katherine tapped her cheek with her fan. "We'll pick one out. First one to seduce him or her before we reach Jamaica wins."

James groaned, and rested his forehead against one of his hands, on the spokes of the wheel. "Good Lord."

"What's wrong? You've played this with us before. _And_ won." Victor arched an eyebrow.

"Not on a _ship_. And not with anyone of… anyone who can…"

"Nobody here is of any real threat to our influence, James. Especially now that you're Rear Admiral of the Red." Katherine said persuasively.

James took in a deep breath. "Are you both going to pester me incessantly until I give in?"

"Just like the last time." Victor said brightly. "It's a long, cold swim to the _Dauntless_, Rear Admiral James Norrington."

"I could take the cockboat."

"We could follow you to the _Dauntless_ and play there. Though the last time our target was already a marine. So it'd be a little boring to repeat the same old thing." Katherine batted her eyelashes. Her fourth finger, stretching back on the rail, seemed to accidentally brush her brother's elbow.

"We'd be good for the rest of the trip," Victor promised.

"Word of honor."

"Regardless if you win or not."

"And what are the terms?" James asked, dryly. "Just out of curiosity."

"If we win, we get to name your next ship." Victor smiled.

"… and what name would that be?" James' expression and voice was a picture of suspicion.

"Nothing scandalous, don't worry," Katherine said with a flutter of her fan, as her brother's right boot moved back a fraction.

"And if I win?"

"What do you want?" Victor purred, sidling up to James and slipping an arm around his shoulders. James shot him a look that would have sent any marine under his command scurrying for cover. On the Earl of Southsend and his maddening twin sister, however, it merely provoked merriment. He did, however, step back when the arm was shrugged off.

"Peace from pranks, mischief and any sort of tomfoolery for… half a year." James said.

Both twins pouted. At the same time. Katherine was the one to speak – James nearly missed the cue from Victor – fingers pulling at one elaborate cuff. "But _James_…"

"Honestly. The both of you are nearly thirty."

"The word is 'nearly', Rear Admiral," Victor said with a woeful expression. "You're trying to steal our youth away."

"You're both no longer in your youth by any measure."

"Two months." Katherine said plaintively.

"Five."

"Three."

"Four, and that's my final offer."

"Fine." Victor glanced at the nobility wandering about the deck, some of whom were making admirable efforts not to gawk at the Earl. "But it's the both of us against you. Especially since you won, the last time."

Dryly. "When has it ever _not_ been the both of you, against me, in any inconvenient little dare you care to shanghai me into?"

"And… we get to pick who." Katherine added.

James arched an eyebrow.

"Don't worry. We'd be fair. It won't be fun otherwise," Victor assured him. "In return, if neither of us win, we'd still give you your aforementioned peace of mind for a month."

James sighed. On one hand, he would likely receive no peace at all until he agreed, and four months – even just a month – was a long, blessed time of peace which he would need to settle properly into his new rank, if he won. On the other hand, even if he lost, or didn't bother to play properly at all, the matter of having the twins name a ship couldn't be too bad, could it? After all, he _had_ looked at the ships that they did, technically, own, and none of them had particularly odd names (the strangest being one of the corvettes, _Mad Fancy_. After all, their flagship was called the _Stormy Petrel_, a relatively harmless name…). And the last time they'd had this little bet, there had been no resulting scandal, although the marine had asked, wryly, to be transferred, when he'd found out.

"All right." A deep sigh. "Try not to make it anyone troublesome, please."

"Come, brother. We have work to do." Katherine said dramatically, snapping her fan shut.

James waited for the both of them to wander off the bridge and mingle with the brightly colored nobility, before leaning his forehead against one of the spokes of the wheel and cursing under his breath. Come to think of it, only a month ago he had vowed to himself (and rightfully so, what with the terrible incident of the gelding and the painted feathers) not to take part in any of the twins' ideas.

And the month before that (misloaded pistol and oranges). And before that (salmon and a Post Captain's left boot).

Broodingly contemplating this apparent glaring flaw in his self-control and rationality, the Rear Admiral of the Red presented such a forbidding picture that even the marines skirted around him.

--

It was two days into the voyage and Beckett could feel cold, familiar strands of anxiety plucking at him. Out of his schedule and far away from any place of comfort. He _had_, of course, undergone voyages before, far lengthier than this, to the Indies, but that didn't mean he had to _like_ it. He forced his mind to linger on the few things of comfort that were close. Caesar, in the stalls below decks, the spirited stallion probably heartily bored of the confinement, even though Beckett had seen several other beautiful animals of likely extensive pedigrees being led into the ship along with his prized horse. English Lords could be so unwittingly cruel, in the name of vanity. Need, in his case.

The much-beloved brown coat, a little spotted from the surf. Beckett's fingers crinkled slightly as he saw the asymmetrical blots, and he forced his eyes to his hands, taking deep, even breaths. He had to control this. There were too many potential enemies on this ship for him to show the slightest sign of his weakness. Especially since he was venturing into unknown territory – a new post.

Mercer noted his master's too-measured breathing, from where he stood at his side on the rail, hands crossed behind his back, no evidence at all in his dour clothing of hidden stilettos, glanced around, and lowered his voice. "Sir?"

"I'm fine." Beckett whispered, and closed his eyes. Curled his nails into his palm, and dragged the cold mask into place. When he spoke again, his voice was the even, distant tone of _Lord_ Beckett. "Fine."

"What's fine?" Beckett half-turned at the sound of a inquisitive, feminine voice. He blinked when he saw Lord and Lady Tembury-Lysander bearing down on him, the latter with her hand lightly on her brother's arm.

"_Kathie_," her brother admonished, then flashed a charming smile back at him. "I must apologize for my sister's behavior, Lord Beckett. She gets a little too… excitable, when we have so many esteemed guests aboard our _Petrel_."

"I do beg your pardon," Katherine agreed, though the gleam in ice-blue eyes were anything but repentant. Beckett had the distinct feeling that he was being evaluated, and pulled his lips up in a thin, polite smile. The Earl of Southsend had made a name for himself in the East India Company, at such a young age. Based in Montserrat, he reportedly was the one who organized all strings of power in this aspect of the British Empire in Jamaica, possibly even the entirety of the New World. A little uncomfortable with the amount of power that he was beginning to accrue, a few of the other Lords had attempted to send counterpoints to Port Royal, Saint Clemens, Bridgetown, New York, Boston – but so far, all had been either eliminated or hobbled. No thread of evidence or causal link could be stretched back to the Earl.

They were scoping him out, then. As the competition. Through the corner of his eye, Beckett could see Mercer tense almost imperceptibly. "Lord and Lady Tembury-Lysander." An incline of his head, anxiety pushed back in the face of a potential threat. "I must thank you again for the invitation to sail aboard your fine ship."

"It's no problem. We're really glad of the company," Katherine's fan had snapped open, and although she hid her mouth, her eyes were faintly coy. Beckett managed not to frown – the reputation of her brother, at the very least – told him not to take anything at face value.

"We do hope the accommodations were adequate," the Earl said, earnestly, both of them apparently playing at being a pair young adults too bemused at their good fortune in the world to question the characters of any they may care to approach. Despite likely knowing that Beckett had their measure. He wondered what their game was.

Beckett found himself watching them carefully as he engaged in small talk. There was something about the way they spoke, and their movements, that didn't strike him, after the third topic, as being entirely regular. Likely to be missed by most common folk, or ignored, but Beckett, determined not to end up like any of his predecessors in the New World, decided to err on the side of caution. At the fifth topic, he conceded that caution had been correct all along.

The twins were speaking in concert.

Issues of the Company were quickly sidelined by a playful Lady Katherine, with neatly feigned feminine impatience for 'masculine' issues. Issues that touched, if barely, on anything personal were fielded by the Earl, turned into topics of gentlemen's sports. Beckett learned nothing of them, in exchange for a little of himself.

"I heard you have a horse on board," Lady Katherine was saying, as, maneuvered by the Earl, Beckett touched on the issue of equestrian sports. "Out of the Sleipnir line?"

Beckett winced inwardly at the name, picked out by a far too fanciful ancestor. "Yes. Caesar is of direct descent, in pedigree."

"That's very interesting," Lady Katherine said brightly, words carefully picked, to appear shallow on the topic to anyone who didn't listen too closely.

"Do you race, Lord Beckett?" the Earl smiled boyishly. "We have some fine animals back in Montserrat. Their bloodlines trace to Araby."

"Once you've settled in, of course," Lady Katherine added.

Beckett hesitated only a moment. "Of course." His eyes flickered to how Lady Katherine seemed to then grasp her brother's arm with just the middle finger and thumb. When he looked up, he realized that they had both noticed that he had observed their silent language – identical thoughtful expressions. Beckett excused himself as quickly as he could without giving offense. The slip had made the anxiety return, more insistently than before. His hands felt filthy.

--

Lord and Lady Tembury-Lysander watched Beckett and his ever-present bodyguard disappear below decks, and shot each other satisfied smirks.

--

"We've found our mark," Victor announced, when they were back on the bridge.

James mustered the most bored expression he could come up with, hoping he could diminish some of their enthusiasm. No such luck. "Already? Did the both of you vet all the potentials on board in the space of one short afternoon?"

"He's young, he's rather handsome and very intelligent," Katherine said, ignoring the sarcasm. "And he's probably your type, as well."

"I don't have a type," James contradicted her automatically.

"Of course you do. You like the slender, almost pretty sort. The not too masculine…" Victor was cut short by James, who, to his personal annoyance, was beginning to flush.

"Fine." The Rear Admiral looked at their almost imperceptibly too-innocent expressions for a moment, then stated, "There's something about this you aren't telling me."

"Would we keep secrets from you?" Katherine's eyes widened in mock injury. "The very idea! You are, after all, my fiancé…"

"Yes, you both would. For the fun of it, just to laugh at the sidelines when it explodes in my face." James said, wearily. "What's wrong with this person you've picked out?"

"Nothing's wrong," Victor said ingenuously. "The word 'wrong' is so hard to define."

"Victor. Katherine." James put all of his Naval bearing and unyielding sense of command into the words. Both twins pouted, at the same time.

"James, you should really allow yourself to be surprised every so often." Katherine said reproachfully. "It adds spice to life. Otherwise, you'd age into a crotchety old man."

"I'm really working right now," James said pointedly. "What about the both of you pester me over dinner instead?"

"We didn't think it'd be fair to have a head start," Victor said, all but radiating artlessness.

"Since I'm technically captain _and_ will be working throughout the trip, you will both have an advantage anyway," James retorted.

"We can't work on him all day, or he'd suspect something," Katherine tossed her hair. "So it's fair."

James gathered his patience – a familiar activity whenever in their company. "Who is this person?"

"One Lord Cutler Beckett," Victor grinned. "We'd point him out to you at dinner."

"Better yet, we'd invite him to the table," Katherine added.

"And there's something about him I should know, yes?" James continued, in the same patient tone.

"Nothing much," Victor said airily, "Other than he's a Lord of the East India Company."

"Lord Beckett… Lord Beckett…" James murmured. The name sounded familiar. Dispatches. Reports on his desk read in a hurry before leaving for England.

"Posted to Port Royal." Katherine supplied.

Ah yes, that was it.

Wait.

_Wait_.

"I told the both of you not to pick anyone troublesome!" James hissed.

Both Victor and Katherine were the very picture of injured innocence. "He isn't!" Victor protested.

James narrowed his eyes. "Was this your intention all along?"

"You really have a terribly suspicious personality," Katherine fluttered her fan. "No, we fully intended to just have a bit of fun. If we didn't find Lord Beckett interesting, we'd just have passed him over for the bet. But now we can kill two birds with one stone. Fun, _and_ business."

"I still have the feeling that there's something the both of you are failing to reveal to me."

"You're definitely going to age into one of those mean-tempered old men," Victor arched an eyebrow. "Despite our best efforts."

"It'd be obvious at dinner," Katherine grinned. "See you there! Don't be late. Oh, and wear your Rear Admiral uniform."

James glowered at her. "Why?"

"Because if he doesn't look at you – and I mean _look_ – when you're wearing it, it means to be fair to you we probably have to pick another mark," Victor pointed out. "Since it won't be fair if only Katherine has a chance, eh?"

"You mean the both of you couldn't tell?"

"I'm afraid we rather put him on the defensive," Katherine admitted wryly. "What with the whole 'Earl of Southsend' act."

"He noticed?" James blinked. Despite himself, he felt the faintest spark of interest.

"We're fairly sure he did," Victor nodded. "So?"

"Fine, I'd wear the damned uniform." James muttered. "But I would much rather the both of you had selected, say, somebody who would be disembarking at New York, or Boston. Not somebody I'd have to live with in the same area."

"Oh, don't worry, Admiral," Katherine said, fanning herself with an impish grin. "You know what happens to people who get a little too troublesome for us."

"I also recall the both of you agreeing not to resort to any further lethally underhanded methods of culling the competition," James replied tartly.

"And we haven't broken the agreement, have we?" Victor pointed out, with a wink. "It'd be fun, James."

Sensing that trying to throw the both of them off the issue would likely cost him far too much personal aggravation and take up the rest of a fine day for sailing, James caved, if reluctantly. "Anything to get the both of you off my back for the remainder of the voyage."


	2. Coffee

A/N: another terrible habit: a tendency to roll dice to decide things. Dice have decided that Beckett's magic number is 4. Gloves…

2

Coffee

"Message for you, sir." Mercer's voice, from the other side of the cabin door. Beckett took a steady breath, and wiped his hands on the white towel provided by the basin exactly four times, and then folded it into exactly four layers.

"Come in."

Mercer stepped into the room, a card and a short letter penned floridly on East India Company paper crested with the mark of the Earl of Southsend resting on a silver tray. He placed it at right angles on the table, the old retainer attentive of his master's neuroses, and stood back, closing the door. Beckett nodded his thanks, and walked over, reading the note without touching the paper.

A short, politely worded dinner invitation for seven o' clock, extended by Lord and Lady Tembury-Lysander and her fiancé the Rear Admiral of the Red, at the 'Manticore cabin', to be casual, drinks, cigars and whist afterwards. Beckett shuddered slightly, and realized his nails had curled into his palm again. He did not enjoy these sorts of 'friendly' invitations – they stretched on far too long into the night, and there were only so many times one could excuse oneself to the washroom. Besides, his little… issues… would likely be very easily perceived by the twins, if he didn't guard himself with sufficient care.

Unfortunately, he could see no way of declining without giving insult – or worse, giving too much away. He looked up to see Mercer watching him, expressionlessly. "Sir?" The flat calm in the voice soothed him. He could, at this point, order Mercer to do anything from murdering every third man he saw on his way out, to inquiring as to the wine list available on the ship. Power had always counterweighted his mental disquiet.

"Tell the Earl that I humbly accept his invitation to dinner, and find out where the Manticore cabin is," Lord Beckett said, decisively. Mercer nodded, picked up the tray, and left. Beckett sank his fingers into the edges of the table when the door closed, grit his teeth, and hissed air in and out in even breaths. He was too far from home, and…

He was too far from home. Any home.

Beckett was beginning to miss even noisy, too-crowded London and its stinking streets.

It had only been two days, damn it all. It would be at least a month and a half on the sea to Jamaica.

Right. He could do this. The trip to the Indies, to Manila, had taken far longer, and he had survived that and back. Granted, there had been some close shaves, and he had been on ships where he outranked everybody else and no one thought it odd that a Lord could be eccentric enough to only see the sun once a day and spend the rest of it locked in a cabin, but… he could survive this. He had to. There was power in it for him, and challenge, if he could but wrest strands away from the twins. He had done so three times before, from men seemingly permanently entrenched in their power, in different parts of the world. Manila, Bombay, the Barbary Coast. Madras. It was his specialty, in fact, within the murky world of mercantile power games. Smoothing the lines of authority within the East India Company, and between the EIC and other forces of empire. The Navy. The nobility. Compared to some of the brutal, wily men, with whom he had been matched against in the past, the twins should be nothing.

The Earl of Southsend and his sister.

Who had invited him to dinner.

And this was their ship.

Their territory.

It had seemed so much clearer in London, especially in the presence of the other Lords, those at the pinnacle of the Company, who held the strings and danced the rest of them to their cues. There weren't that many long haul ships headed to Jamaica from Southampton, which meant either he waited another month (or more, knowing how travel worked) until there was a ship to New York, then attempt to charter a course to Jamaica from there, or leave with the _Stormy Petrel_ with its reliable Naval escort and try to get some bearings, and information, from the twins there.

His hands were beginning to feel…

_Knowledge is power_.

Beckett ground his teeth, lowered his head, and thought of Caesar. Traced back his bloodline four generations by heart, then breathed more easily. He walked over to his case, opened it, and took out a thick folder, which he placed at right angles on the comfortable, if narrow bed beside the porthole. Sitting on the edge, making sure his coat was symmetrically folded to either side, he drew out the file he had collected on the twins and began to read.

After a while, he took out the file on Rear Admiral Norrington.

--

"What. Are the two of you. Doing here."

James felt that he was already being very patient for not having lost his temper so far, even if it were just two days into their trip. Going into his cabin early to change for dinner and seeing the twins, barefoot, sprawled on his bed, papers strewn all over the desk, bits of the floor, the dresser, and the bed itself, reading upside down to candle light, however…

Katherine waved a hand absently from where she was reading part of what looked like neatly written reports. "Could you get us some coffee, darling?"

"Don't call me that," James muttered, trying to push away his sense of sheer exasperation. He took in a deep breath, counted slowly to ten, then began to pick up the strewn papers, starting with the desk. "What are the two of you doing?"

"Coffee first, talk later, sweetheart," Victor drawled, picking up another piece of paper from the mess on the bed. James rolled his eyes, counted to ten again, dumped the papers on the desk, and stalked for the door.

"I want mine with milk!" he heard Katherine call from behind him on his way out.

The twins grinned when the door was shut with a little more force than necessary.

"That was close, Kathie," Victor admonished, rolling to his knees and beginning to pick up the papers. "Do you think he read anything?"

"Too busy seeing red, I think," Katherine sat up, adjusting her dress, and began to help her brother. Her lips curved faintly. "He loses it so adorably whenever he's called any sort of endearment."

"It's really a pity," Victor agreed, as the stack of papers was sorted and divided into three. The slimmer stack disappeared into an envelope. The Earl clapped three times.

The door opened, and the dour features of one of their footmen (with miscellaneous functions) looked in. "Sir?"

"Put this in our rooms, please."

When the footman had left, Katherine chuckled. "Well. That was a pleasant diversion."

"Didn't think he'd be back so early," Victor nodded. "Anyway, back to the problem of Lord Beckett."

"Yes." Katherine pursed her lips. "Terrible slip on our parts, being blindsided by other matters and not doing a proper background check on Beckett before agreeing to his posting."

"I think that was Their intention all along," Victor sighed. "It was probably the engagement that crossed the line. Beforehand they were likely happy for us to play in our little sugar-growing corner of the world. But when we poached a member of the Navy… and an Admiral, at that…"

"I don't think underhanded means would work so easily in this case," Katherine sighed. "Did you see that man he had with him? His eyes?"

"I think even Bartlett would have problems besting that one," Victor agreed. "But as you agreed, sister. There's something a little odd, how he's acting. There's a weakness there."

Katherine nodded, glancing down at the papers on her lap. They were sketched accounts of all the postings that Lord Beckett had been assigned to, as well as his family background. In the envelope taken away were more delicate reports, about balances of power and the Lords that had been previously assigned to or near the postings – what had become of them. "So you really think he's…"

"Yes, sister." Victor said, absently plucking at his scarf – the only cue he gave whenever he was worried. "I think Beckett is Kingfisher."

Katherine looked down at the papers. "We should tell James."

"You know why we can't. The less he knows, the better. If this turns out to be the last mistake we ever make, at least he won't be pulled down with us."

A wry laugh. "We probably should have read this before that bet. Can't withdraw, though. James will suspect something."

"It's a further incentive to win," Victor fell back onto the bed, and stretched languidly. "You know. Looking at it objectively, James is perfect for this. He's so obviously incapable of substantial subterfuge that it'd allay suspicion."

"Concealing the truth…"

"He's capable of that, yes, but not subterfuge." Victor pointed out.

"We haven't been able to see things objectively when James is involved, for a long while now, brother. Perhaps from the beginning."

"He does have that effect on people."

--

James brooded a little at the rail, staring over the water at the _Dauntless_, meditating about immaturity, his involvement in what looked to be a dangerous prank, the necessity of being stuck with a pair of very bored twins for at least a month and a half on the sea (he could probably elude them in port) and having to keep them out of (too much) trouble, before deciding that he himself was being childish. A few deep breaths of the distinct, fresh scent of the sea, and he went below decks, sending a marine to the kitchens.

When he opened the cabin door, the twins were seated at the desk, the papers stacked before them, fully dressed, and looking so contrite that he lost any final inclinations he might have towards outrage, and smiled wryly. "Your coffee will be here in a moment."

"Thanks," they both said, eerily in concert, apparently decided that they were forgiven, and relaxed, looking through the papers again.

James shrugged off his coat, hat and wig (rack, dresser) and took necessary items behind the dressing screen. He knew better than most that to get the twins to move when they didn't want to was impossible, and any embarrassment he felt about changing in the presence of a lady had melted away long ago (regarding Lady Katherine, anyway). As he worked at buttons, he asked, more conversationally, "Research?"

"Some background information," Victor said.

James chuckled. "I thought that the both of you didn't want to have an unfair head start."

"Oh, this? No, he'd expect us to have read his official file," Katherine said airily. "Just as we'll expect him to have read ours. And maybe yours. You're allowed to go in blind. Makes for good conversation."

"My file? The Company has a file on me?" James blinked. Though come to think of it, he supposed he really wasn't that surprised. The twins had likely read it.

"Very boring reading," Victor's reply was playful, and confirmed James' suspicions. "Commendable officer, etcetera. Not even the whiff of interesting scandal."

James ignored that. "And the both of you still don't want to tell me what's… unusual, about this Lord Beckett."

"It's better that way. If he doesn't suspect anything," Katherine said soothingly.

James was putting on his inner surcoat when there was a knock on the door. The measured tread and the sound of booted heels – and a clatter of a tray on the table, scents – told him that coffee had indeed arrived. The door closed just as he was adjusting his cravat. He walked out.

Katherine and Victor wolf-whistled, like any vulgar member of the working-class. James blushed, and then got irritated at himself for blushing. His remonstrance was sharper than he'd intended "Stop that."

"Even if his preference is women, he has to be a eunuch not to…" Victor grinned, and made a hand gesture that was absolutely inappropriate for his station and breeding, and definitely inappropriate in the presence of ladies. He beamed in the face of narrowed green eyes.

"Don't wear the wig," Katherine added over the top of her mug, when James approached the dresser.

"Shouldn't the both of you be getting dressed?" James arched an eyebrow.

"Oh! But…" Katherine looked at the notes, then at her brother.

"You take longer. I'd read your bit and fill you in," he said. She nodded, blew James a kiss – he glowered – and left the room. Victor settled lower in his chair, flipping through the papers, downing the scalding, bitter liquid as though it were water. That made James frown slightly – attuned as he were to the mannerisms of the twins, perhaps more than they realized. When they drank this much coffee, at this speed, it meant that something had come up that required them to become absolutely serious. Come to think of it, they had only started with that ridiculous pet name calling session when he had picked up some of the papers…

"Anything I can help with?" James asked, concerned, sitting down opposite him. Victor shuffled the papers together and pulled them to the edge, when the Rear Admiral glanced covertly at them.

"No. Just some background reading we should have been looking at anyway," Victor grinned, nothing in his expression or demeanor suggesting disquiet. "You're early."

"Your helmsman told me to take it easy," James said dryly.

"I'm surprised Mister Ethan let you at the wheel for this long," Victor agreed. "He adores this ship. Kathie and I did ask him to let you captain it until we got back, though."

"I'd go back aboard the _Dauntless_ at New York."

Victor pouted. "But the food is worse."

"The both of you can stay on the _Petrel_."

"But you'll be aboard the _Dauntless_." Plaintive.

"Normally, the both of you live apart. In Montserrat," James pointed out.

"That's why we should make use of all possible chances to be around you right now," Victor said brightly, and batted his eyelashes in a perfect imitation of his sister, his voice melting into a purr. "We _adore_ you, sweetheart."

The withering stare only made the Earl of Southsend wink and turn back to his coffee.

--

Two cups of tea later, Beckett was aware that he was no closer to solving the enigma of the Earl of Southsend and his sister than he was a few hours ago. There was quite the file on the Earl, detailing his breeding, his inheritance and properties, and his station. There was a very short file on the sister, mostly with regards to her hobbies, and her relationships – sister to the Earl, affianced to the Rear Admiral of the Red. At the next port, Beckett would make sure that was corrected. The sister was definitely part of the façade of the 'Earl of Southsend', as involved as her brother, and likely as dangerous. The file of speculation as to the depth of the Earl's involvement in the New World was also copious, and entirely circumstantial. If the twins were more than what they appeared to be, they were also, for their age, remarkably skilled.

In procuring the marriage to the Rear Admiral, however, they had succeeded in, unfortunately, also procuring the curiosity of the puppet masters at the apex of the Company. Who had realized, to their consternation, the sudden threat to their influence in the Caribbean.

He really should have been called in earlier. Manila's knotty problem had been interesting, but the final months of resolution could have been handled by subordinates.

Beckett drank the next cup of tea in exactly sixteen gulps, without thinking about it, leafing through the Admiral's file again. There wasn't much on the man. Exemplary record in combating pirates. Previous posting to the Barbary Coast before a Lieutenant's position in Port Royal, rose to rank of Commodore through further work regarding piracy, attained moniker 'Pirate Hunter'. Promoted to Rear Admiral of the Red for commendable work in the arrest and execution of a notorious pirate crew.

Something caught his eye – Beckett replaced the cup on the table. In the barely legible notes behind the file: 'Popular gossip claims that the only pirate to have crossed his path and still live is CJS.'

CJS.

Captain Jack Sparrow.

Beckett's lip twisted.

This time, he didn't try to control the urge to wash his hands.

--

James was rather sourly aware that he had been manipulated into showing up early in the Manticore cabin. The 'cabin' in question was really simply a converted stateroom, technically private dining for two – whenever the twins didn't feel like eating with their guests – or whenever they did not, in fact, have guests aboard. The large oval table was covered with a fine white linen sheet, elaborately edged with gold. Antique silverware had already been laid out, the bases of forks, spoons and rounded-edge knives embossed with a more elaborate version of the three-spoked EIC crest.

Through the two portholes, he could tell that night had settled over the sea. He leaned back into his comfortably cushioned rosewood chair and began to toy with the cuffs of his inner coat. Shoes pushed into the plush Persian carpet under the table. The oil painting of some fantastic and imaginary animal, probably the very creature that gave the cabin its name – hung on the wall he faced, its snarling visage terribly distracting.

There was a knock on the door.

"Yes?"

"Lord Beckett, sir," the guard.

"Ah, right." James got to his feet.

The man who entered the room was… smaller… than expected.

James supposed he had gotten _that_ particular false impression by how studiously the twins had been examining Lord Beckett's file. When cold dark eyes swept over him, however, in a single, brief assessing glance, he felt that he could understand why.

Lord Beckett's presence was electrifying. And he had thought that he had become inured to airs of power, with his exposure to the twins. Their playfulness, however, had dampened down most of the intimidation from their auras. Partial act, in that case – they wanted to be underestimated. It was part of their game.

Beckett, however, didn't seem to bother with that – his wintry, imperious manner seemed to permeate the room, and likely could cow many a man, with that intense, dark stare. James guessed that it was necessary, for him – the height, and the (yes, he would admit to the twins, _technically_, Lord Beckett would be his 'type', if for argument's sake he agreed to having a 'type') elfishly handsome face. No wig that seemed necessary to costume – but this was a 'casual' dinner, after all – dark brown hair was bound tightly with a blue ribbon the same almost-black hue of his coat. All elaborate poise. James saw that he was wearing thin white gloves thickly embroidered with gold thread. White cravat, cream shirt. A smile that had long ago eroded into what was really a sneer. Gloved hand out to shake. Right.

Internally shaking himself into officer mode, James smiled politely, and did so. Firm shake. Eye contact. "Lord Beckett. An honor to meet you."

"Rear Admiral Norrington." Lord Beckett's grip was steady, but withdrawn a little too quickly, bordering on rude. "The pleasure is all mine, I can assure you."

"It seems my fiancée and the Earl are likely to be a little late," James said apologetically. "Please, have a seat."

--

Beckett had allowed himself to be guided by Mercer to the stateroom in question. The gloves should assuage much of the anxiety for as long as it was necessary to be sociable – him never removing them would be an acceptable eccentricity. Besides, they were nearly so gaudy as to be a fashion statement all by themselves – however, he had found that often the gold thread proved distracting enough for observers that the fundamental question of why he seemed to wear the gloves all the time when in social functions tended to go unasked.

He _had_ been expecting the Earl and his sister to be late, so he was slightly surprised to hear a male voice answer the knock.

Ah. The Rear Admiral. Beckett made some final checks on his mask, and entered the room.

Rear Admiral Norrington was tall, almost irritatingly so. The straight-backed posture of an officer only emphasized that – though the elaborate blue and white dress uniform of a Rear Admiral complemented the long frame. Startling green eyes in a strikingly attractive face, some fine strands of chocolate-brown hair escaping the red ribbon. Lips were slightly parted, and the man was rather unabashedly staring – up until Beckett stretched a hand forward with a faint smirk.

Well. That was one thing that wasn't on the file.

He'd have to reevaluate the issue of the engagement later – there was probably a clue in how Norrington had placed 'fiancée' before 'Earl'.

After they exchanged pleasantries, he settled in the nearest chair, careful with the coat. Norrington had also seated himself, and he was the first to speak. "The Earl informed me that you are assuming a post in Port Royal, Lord Beckett."

Beckett nodded. "Where you are based, I hear. Admiral. I look forward to working with you, where necessary." Distant, polite. Laughter from the corridor saved him from having to engage in further small talk with the possessor of rather distracting green eyes.

--

He had been caught gawking. James resolved not to tell the twins of _that_ little embarrassment (he'd be the butt of their jokes for months), and got up from his chair with relief that he hoped wasn't too obvious, when they were ushered into the cabin. As befit a good fiancé, he held out the chair for his 'beloved', made sure she was comfortable, and only returned to his own chair when Katherine smiled coyly at him. Her eyes asked a question that didn't need to be verbalized. _Did he_…?

James shrugged very slightly. Katherine's lip quirked briefly, and she turned to look at where the Earl was engaging Lord Beckett in boyishly elaborate apologies as to why they were late. Apparently they had run into an old friend of theirs and… James tuned out the blather automatically, as the dishes were served.

Sides of beef, venison, lamb. Soup. Served efficiently and quietly by servants dressed in the livery of Southsend. James realized he wasn't really paying attention to what he was eating, caught up in the machinations of the silly bet despite himself. Observing Lord Beckett and trying to be witty. Dry humor probably worked best on these icy sorts.

Victor was leading the conversation – mostly discussing Beckett's comparative experience in postings in Madras and Manila. Katherine was mostly silent, only smiling at her brother (and occasionally at Beckett, coy interest which he seemed to ignore). When she did speak, it was with (James knew better) feminine, shy ignorance. That made him a little more worried, though he was careful not to show it. If the twins were playing the successful-brother accessory-sister act to the hilt, that means that they were unsure of something and had closed themselves up in their best defense-offense.

It took him a moment to realize, when the second course came – poultry, fish – that he was being spoken to. He arched an eyebrow at Victor.

"I was saying, James, that you previously had a posting in the Barbary Coast," Victor said, and smiled winningly at Lord Beckett. "Lord Beckett has also, reputedly, spent time in the Mediterranean."

"How exotic," Katherine said with a look of wide-eyed, barely concealed excitement. "James has told me how _dreadful_ the pirates there can be. Was it not dangerous?"

"Unfortunately, I was sequestered in Tripoli for much of my stay, in negotiations," Beckett sounded almost apologetic. Although apparently humoring the lady, his eyes flickered briefly between Victor and Katherine.

James wondered why the both of them were bothering, when it was likely obvious to them that Beckett had seen their act for what it was. "Ententes with the pirate states?" A faint grin, to take any accusation out of his voice. The situation in the Barbary Coast, even now, was uneasy.

"Diplomatic cloak and dagger, I'm afraid," Beckett smirked. "Nothing as exciting as battling the pirates who 'forgot' about agreements regarding ships flying the Union Jack out at sea."

James conceded the point, and knew the conversational cue for what it was. When he finished with his account of one such raid on a merchant vessel he had been escorting, dinner was finished. Plates cleared. Beckett excused himself, though agreeing easily enough to the Earl's entreaties regarding joining them in an hour for cigars, drinks and whist.

Katherine and Victor sat silently for a moment, waiting for the sound of footsteps to die away, then both turned to look at James. Identical grins. "Well?" Katherine asked, playfully.


	3. Whist

A/N: I don't play whist (or indeed many card games other than poker), so I'm sorry if my interpretation is a little wrong, or if the game account seems juvenile.

3

Whist

James frowned. "He seems normal to me. Cold fish, though."

"You didn't see?" Victor arched an eyebrow. "He's a little…" A rude gesture insinuating mental problems.

James rolled his eyes. "Whatever gave the both of you that impression?"

"He drank his soup in exactly sixty-four spoonfuls," Katherine said.

"Each time he took a serving he'd eat it in sixteen mouthfuls," Victor added. "Multiples of four."

"The gloves."

"The coat."

"The way he moved his hand away so fast when it seemed like I might brush against his sleeve."

"…so?" James asked, forcing himself to be patient.

The twins smirked. Katherine reached forward and patted his hand. "Don't worry, James. We still adore you. It's all right."

James glared at them.

"He's compulsive," Victor drawled, as though speaking to a particularly slow child. "You _know_. Kathie and I have seen some of these people before. They can't help doing certain things, like… oh, having to take a certain number of steps to the bathroom in the morning, washing their hands far too often… it's quite funny, sometimes." Both twins didn't add that they had once, before meeting James, made use of a person's compulsions to torture said person for information. James tended to react badly to those sorts of analogies.

"So not only did you pick someone dangerous, you picked someone… not quite right in the head?" James asked dryly.

"But that makes it fun!" Katherine smiled brightly.

"Exactly!" Victor agreed. A manservant entered, with coffee and what looked like a small stack of blank paper, quill, inkbottle. Katherine moved to sit next to her brother. They took turns doodling what looked like meaningless squiggles.

"There's still something the both of you aren't telling me," James said suspiciously.

"What makes you think that, darling?" Katherine asked, innocently.

James resisted the instant ire he felt at the ridiculous endearment, and instead smiled indulgently. _That_ brought them both up short. Twin arched eyebrows. "Because, Katherine-_dear_, the two of you have been drinking coffee in copious amounts. Also, you provoked me into leaving the room when I picked up after the both of you. _And_ the two of you insisted on continuing with your double act even though you told me he had caught on to it."

"And? And?" Victor said, in a tone of breathy excitement, obviously meant to irritate.

"Really, Victor," James said sternly, "If you're still trying to annoy me off the issue, I'm sad to say it won't work."

Both twins pouted. Katherine glanced at her brother, then said in a small voice, "I suppose we really should tell him."

Victor sighed. "It'd only be fair, wouldn't it, Kathie."

"I mean, keeping secrets from our darling, that's a breach of trust," Katherine said solemnly. "Do you want to tell him, or should I?"

"I'd do it."

"I'm right here, you know," James said mildly.

Victor glanced back at him, and before James could divine his intent and pull his hand away, had clasped it firmly before him with both elegant hands. James tugged briefly to no avail, then asked, flatly, before he lost any further dignity, "Well?"

"You see, James-sweetie…"

"I told you the 'endearments' wouldn't work," James said, in a tone of disdain.

"Well. You see… Lord Beckett is really…"

A dramatic pause that dragged on too long. Impatiently, James asked, "Well?"

"We didn't want to tell you, but I suppose you'd really have found out eventually…" this was from an earnest Katherine.

"If I lose my patience," James said evenly, "I am throwing the both of you overboard."

"Okay, we'd tell you, if you promise not to be angry."

"Much."

"All right, you can be a little angry, because when you're angry you're _really_ sexy."

"_Victor. Katherine_."

"And you have to promise it'd never leave this room." Victor said, seriously.

"You don't even have to ask that," James said irritably. "_Well_?"

"Fine." Victor held green eyes with ice-blue ones evenly. "Lord Beckett… is actually… a _woman_."

James stared at him for a moment, then at Katherine, then lowered his head with a deep, exasperated sigh, jerking his hand out of Victor's palms. The twins burst into gales of laughter. "_Fine_. Get into trouble, I don't care. I'll see you both in a goddamn _hour_." With that, he got to his feet, and stalked out.

--

The twins managed to stop sniggering only when they were on their second cups of coffee. "That was cruel," Katherine finally admitted, when they subsided.

"But it's just so hard to resist," Victor agreed, his eyes going down to the sketches – an elaborate code that they had perfected years ago, that allowed them to hold conversations about strategy in silence, keep the records, and still be safe. "And you agreed, we can't tell him what Kingfisher is. Let alone that it's Beckett. He'd worry, then try to do the honorable thing by confronting Beckett about it, and before you know it…"

"That man with the dead eyes he keeps as a bodyguard would likely stick our James full of knives," Katherine sighed. "We could assign Bartlett."

"No, we need him," Victor shook his head. "If we play this right, Beckett shouldn't think James is anything more than he is."

"You saw too, didn't you," Rosebud lips curved into a little smirk. "He definitely was 'looking'. At James. On the verge of salivating, even." That was probably an exaggeration, but it made both twins snicker.

"Yes, I was beginning to feel a little slighted," Victor said, with an expression of mock envy. "I think this one probably would go both ways, if we could get under his repression and the… issue, though."

"James has that little gleam in his eye," Katherine added, a little more seriously. "He's interested. It might be hard to, well, beat him to it, when it goes that way. I think we'd better talk to Mister Evans. More work for James means it'd be easier for us."

Victor nodded. Their scribble conversation was complete. Outside of a few more conventional, crude strategies, all quickly discarded – getting Beckett drunk, or slipping something into his food or drink – were a few other plans that could immediately be set in motion. Unfortunately, to allay suspicion, the whist and cigars tonight would have to be strictly friendly.

"We'd just make it up to him afterwards," Katherine said, as the scribbles and coffee were taken away and a pack of cards was placed on the table.

Victor chuckled. "Perhaps we won't need to. He hardly ever stays angry with us. And besides, he knows he's closer to the truth than we really want him to be. And if he wants the truth, he'd have to make peace."

"It's really cute how he can't help but be worried about us," Katherine grinned.

True to that prediction, when James returned, early, for whist, he had a wry smile and a peace offering of macaroons.

--

"Do we draw for partners?" Lord Beckett asked, when he reentered the cabin, anxiety washed away in a basin in his own. He was unsurprised to note that the third player was Lady Katherine, despite her vivid performance as brainless feminine fluff during dinner. There was a neat stack of cards on the table.

The Rear Admiral glanced at his fiancée, then at her brother, and smiled faintly. "I'm sad to say that when we do draw for partners, it really usually ends up with…"

"Are you suggesting that we'd cheat, James?" The Earl grinned.

"I'm not suggesting that you'll cheat, Victor," Norrington said dryly. "I'm asserting that you _both _will, if paired with anyone else. In fact, likely the best way to prevent cheating would be for one of you not to play, and for us to hail one of the Lords at random from the ship."

"It's a trick-taking game, James," Lady Katherine smiled sweetly. "Cheating is part of the rules. But of course, it's up to our guest." The dazzling smile was turned on Lord Beckett, who realized to his mild consternation that he wasn't entirely immune.

He found himself agreeing, even as he hastened to suppress the urge to excuse himself again. It was an effort even to prevent his fingers from curling. "The Earl and Lady Tembury-Lysander may pair if they wish." Dryly. "But in that case we don't play for money. I don't wish to be cleaned of my finances before even reaching Jamaica."

Both twins pouted. "But that's no fun, Lord Beckett," The Earl protested. "Winners have to win _something_."

"Don't agree, they come up with the most undignified dares," Norrington said wearily, settling down in a chair without bothering about seating privileges. Beckett sat down opposite him, and the twins seated themselves. The tension from the stiffly polite dinner seemed to have dissipated, and he wasn't sure what the twins' game was now. Norrington's attitude appeared to be simply that he was used to their caprice and was simply reacting to whatever mood they cared to set at any moment, without really thinking about it. With that open face, it didn't seem like the officer was really capable of subterfuge on the level that the Earl and his sister were.

It could be that they were simply trying to create an atmosphere where he would play whist casually, like the game it was, rather than guardedly. Through the trick-taking card game, a person versed in reading others could glean much information about the other players – it was the main reason why he had agreed to put himself through further 'socializing', rather than pleading weariness.

"I'll deal. James will shuffle." The Earl decided.

Thirteen cards were dealt to each player. The Earl turned his last card face up – three of hearts – hearts was trumps, then. The card was turned back again, as each player fanned cards before them.

James was to lead the first trick, being left of the dealer, and he did so predictably. King of diamonds. Diamonds was his strongest suit, then. Not a good complement – the longest that Beckett currently had was spades…

--

"The two of you have your _own _room, the last I checked," James said irritably.

Both twins were again sprawled haphazardly over his bed, slightly flushed from cognac and from their triumph at whist. Beckett had conceded the loss with wry grace, and claimed weariness when challenged to a fourth round. He was a cautious player who tended to save trumps for the last few hands, a player who saw a partner only as an asset not to be fully trusted, giving out almost no cues at all as to his own suits. On the other hand, he seemed excellent at deducing the strong and weak suits that the twins held.

Katherine giggled, obviously tipsy, and to James' exasperation, burrowed under the sheets. Her brother rolled over onto his side, back to the Rear Admiral, and pulled a pillow over his head.

"Oh, for God's sake," James sighed. "I have to wake up early tomorrow. Please."

"You don't have to, you're a guest here, sweetie," Katherine's voice was slightly muffled under the sheets.

James snorted, deciding to let the provocation slide for the time being. "I still want to sleep."

"No one's stopping you," Victor pointed out.

"And where, exactly, do you suggest I sleep with the both of you occupying _my_ bed?"

"It's a decently big bed. Enough for three, if none of us kick," Victor's wicked grin could be vaguely seen under the pillow, as he rolled over. "Why don't you change? I think we've never seen you in a nightshirt before."

There was a muffled "Ooh. Hot," from under the blankets.

"I remember Katherine saying that you were ticklish," James said, as menacingly as he could, as he approached. Sure enough, Victor sat up, pillow held protectively to his abdomen.

"You wouldn't!"

"Get off the bed and I won't."

"I _happen_ to be the Earl of Southsend," Victor said in a forbidding tone, rather marred by the tousled hair, flushed cheeks, the unsteady finger waved in his direction and escaping locks of wheat-gold hair that curled over a rumpled collar.

James smirked. "And?"

Almost in reach. Victor yelped and backed against his sister, who wriggled out from the sheets, laughing at his predicament. He bared his teeth at her, then let out a sound suspiciously like a squeak as James, using the distraction, pounced. A few confused moments, flailing limbs, writhing bodies, and squeals later, Victor was off the bed, pouting and breathless, followed by his snickering sister. That was one thing about the twins – if one went one way, the other followed. So evicting the both of them was not too difficult (unless they had made up their minds to stay) if one had the means to evict either. If one was willing to sacrifice some dignity (in the name of sleep), that is.

"Out." James pointed.

"But _James_," a whine, from both twins.

James permitted himself another smirk. "Good _night_."

--

Beckett chose to have breakfast privately, not particularly feeling capable of handling civilized company at the moment. As he ate, he went through the details of the dinner and the whist game again. What _were_ those two up to?

He doubted it was simple friendliness, or they would have kept up the guarded double act through the card game – or actually, they would likely have simply asked around for a fourth player, with Lady Katherine retiring early. At least, that was what he would have done, in their place, and it was safe enough such that no one would call question of a lady's wishes to rest – whist was more often than not played by gentlemen, and the invitation had specified whist _and_ cigars.

One reason why he could see that they had stayed and dropped the act was that they wanted to win the rounds of whist. It would have been too facile to keep up the fluff-brained mask when partnering so skillfully in the game. But why would they want to win? There had been, at the Rear Admiral's insistence, no bet at all.

Assuming (and this was a safe assumption) that they wanted to see his play when up against difficult odds – well, Beckett would be the first to admit that a fundamental flaw in his character, based on his vocation, made it difficult for him to rely on partners, let alone a total unknown, even if it were a card game. And Norrington was a difficult partner – although he could, with officer-precision, school his face into an expressionless visage, he never bluffed his suit. Though it could just be that he never did so when playing against the twins.

So, if they wanted to see how he played whist – but why? He was fairly sure that he had taken all the usual steps to make sure that his posting to the Caribbean was above suspicion. Even if they had somehow managed to get their hands on his official file. Many Lords switched postings often, claiming a love of travel, after all. And there was no mention in the file regarding the unfortunate instances that occurred to rival Lords in the area (he was almost never posted to the same post as said Lord, but only to a close one – and he was always careful to make sure that their inexorable demise or ruin seemed unrelated to his arrival).

It wasn't that none of his targets had guessed before – Lord Hailsern in Manila had, five months before the wheels that Beckett set in motion crushed his spirit with scandal, two months too late to prevent it. That had been several months of checking his food for poison and barely evading accidents on the street. It had been amusing – juvenile, but amusing.

But if he recalled, none of his targets had ever deduced that he was Kingfisher, at the beginning. He was young, he always only traveled with Mercer (no other lackeys), and many Lords thought that 'Kingfisher' was not a name for an individual, but a number of individuals. And some of those men he had faced against in the past had been rather disturbingly paranoid.

On the other hand, he had never shared a voyage with any of his targets before, either. It was possible that he had somehow slipped (and so distressingly early in the game), while so much out of his comfort zone. That would unnecessarily complicate his plans. Perhaps more so that he had realized, a little irritably, that he found Rear Admiral Norrington's startling green eyes and parted lips ludicrously attractive.

Given his vocation and the need for an unbreakable armor, Beckett had never previously even allowed himself to consider emotional estrangements. But it didn't mean he couldn't admire beauty when he saw it. The twins, as well, were a refreshing change from facing wrinkled, hard-faced old men. They flaunted their allure, however, while Norrington seemed only half-aware of his own, if at all.

Beckett watched as Mercer cleared the plates, and began to drink tea, opting out of sugar and milk. Lingering on the bitter taste.

That was an issue he did want to consider. If Norrington was interested in men, then the marriage was likely one of convenience. Either that or he could be reading far too much into it – Norrington hadn't exactly attempted to flirt, and just looking was well within the bounds of propriety. And for him to be aware of the double-act, it seemed the twins had accepted him into their secret. Which meant they likely had an emotional tie to him.

_Norrington was the chink in their armor_. The intuition that had served Beckett well in the past confirmed this. Granted, it would be a difficult weakness to attack – the man's record of commission was spotless – but he wasn't perfect. And if the twins shielded him from the machinations of power – which he was fairly sure they did – then he should be unaware of the preparations one should make when faced against a player in the game. Let alone the East India Company's Kingfisher.

Since he wasn't at his best on a ship, he should really plead seasickness or weariness and keep to himself until Jamaica. And then – since he would be at Port Royal, with the Rear Admiral, and the twins would be in Montserrat – he could begin his work.

With his strategy tentatively in place, even the anxiety seemed to fade away. Just in case, he drank his tea in sixteen gulps.

--

Norrington loved morning shifts at the helm. Crisp weather, sleepy sunlight, and best of all, no chance of any appearances by the twins – they weren't very good at waking up until it was nearly the afternoon. And with the amount of cognac they had drunk last night, it was possible that they would sleep well into said afternoon in the first place. Which meant at least a third of the day could be spent in blissful peace.

As Captain, technically he didn't have to do shifts at the helm, but it was where he felt best attuned to a ship – where he felt his most comfortable. His marines knew better than to disturb him except for emergencies when he was there, not even needing to be fully conscious of wind directions and the currents. In the calm, he could think, and more often than not since he had agreed to the arranged marriage, said thinking centered on twins-caused trouble.

Damn them both.

There was definitely something about Lord Beckett. The way they were taking such pains to be evasive was already telling, on that point. And they had seen something important at whist, enough to celebrate by breaking out some expensive cognac. James frowned – he really couldn't tell anything about the Lord from his gameplay, other than he preferred playing solo. That didn't tell him anything – many whist players chose not to make full use of their partners. And besides, that didn't seem incriminating or even interesting.

Why would they be worried about Lord Beckett?

The most obvious point James could come up with was that the man was being posted to Port Royal, which was well-within their sphere of influence. But they had never seemed worried about any other Lord that had been sent there in the past. Or was it because they were to spend a long voyage with Beckett?

The frigate was large enough of them to ignore each other if they wanted to. Though it wasn't in the twins' nature, admittedly, to simply pretend a problem didn't exist, compared to attacking it head on.

That would explain the evasiveness, at least. The twins had made it clear, at one point, that as much as they wouldn't interfere in James' so-called 'Navy business' (save where it touched on their own), they expected James to extend them the same courtesy and not pry into their own politics. For his own peace of mind, and because it was 'terribly boring', they said – but James knew what they weren't saying, behind the coy winks and playful grins. The world of politics that they moved in was dangerous, and they didn't want him to get involved – were very careful, at all times, to make sure he stayed as uninformed as possible.

Sometimes it annoyed him immensely.

Unfortunately, he was aware that in their relationship there was a fundamental lack of trust that could possibly never be patched – he wasn't sure if it stemmed from their wish to keep him out of 'their' world, or if it was the cause of said decision. On his part, he was so used to handling confidential Naval information that he too, without really being conscious of it, kept them out of 'his' world as much as possible. So both sides were equally guilty, except that the motives were nothing similar. He wasn't protecting them by withholding Naval issues – they, on the other hand, were trying to protect him, and likely themselves – 'the less he knows, the better' – had far more connotations than one.

The last time they had been this worried, they had later lost one of their guards in an assassination attempt that had come far too close for comfort. And he hadn't found out about it until their mother had let slip some detail (thinking that he _had _known about it) when he had next visited them in Montserrat.

The following angry conversation with the twins hadn't gone well.

_"You could have told me," he'd hissed, when he managed to corner them in their drawing room. They had looked at each other, thoughtfully, as though trying to decide how to play to him, then glanced back, with identical, lopsided smiles. "I could have helped." _

_When Victor spoke, however, his voice was cold – that startled James. With him, around him, they were almost always playful. "It's none of your business, James Norrington." _

_"I can assure you," Katherine's voice was as glacial as her brother's, "That we can take care of ourselves, and we have always done so."_

_"In our agreement, neither of us have an obligation to account to you," Victor continued. "As you have no obligation to account to us." _

It had taken him a _month_ to even speak to them again for that, let alone forgive them. Despite their best efforts.

He wasn't even really sure why he cared as much as he did. It was, after all, logically obvious that they were, as they had said, very capable of taking care of themselves. If not for the (rather unforeseen) hurt from realizing they hadn't even told him about it – if the mother hadn't spoken, he would likely never have known – he would have approached them in a more rational manner. And likely wouldn't have provoked that chilly, defensive response – or so he thought. Hoped. Their defense was still difficult for him to navigate, and until now he wasn't sure how they perceived him. There was fondness (probably), but outside of that… it was entirely possible he was just a pawn in their little games, and never knew it.

Faint resistance in his palms spoke of currents. Absently, he adjusted the course without even thinking.

That was an unpleasant thought that he never liked to linger upon. Wondering if the affection (yes, he wouldn't admit to that, but it was there) was one-sided, or skewed. At the heart of the relationship was the damned… contract. The arranged marriage agreement. And that, by definition, was fairly cold, by itself.

Obsessing over detail on a fine sailing day.

Brooding, James almost didn't notice the twins saunter out onto the deck.

What in the… he looked up sharply at the sky.

It was still _morning_.

And what the hell were they up to, dressed like that?

Theatrical buccaneer costumes.

Theatrical _pirate_ costumes.

Victor wore a black coat with oriental serpent designs up the sleeve, picked out in crimson thread, a black tricorne hat on his head stitched ridiculously in gold with the Jolly Roger. His hair was loose and partially braided with maroon tassels, and his scarf was shimmering gold silk. An elaborate belt with an antique silver buckle set with a crossed-swords design ran from shoulder to slim waist, which was hugged by a crimson sash and several unnecessary belts, including scabbard and holster. A crisp white shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons, half-open, light brown pants, bucket-topped black boots with gold braid trim, and a heavy ring on nearly every finger.

Katherine wore a crimson coat with a soft white fur trim and intricate gold-stitched concentric designs, cut to fit, over a cream blouse with delicate cuffs of lace. She too, wore a tricorne hat with the Jolly Roger design – though red, in her case. The belt across her chest called undue attention to her curves – the buckle was gold, the design a dancing lion. The sash at her waist was blue, and instead of a scarf at her neck, she wore a black leather choker heavily encrusted with gold weave and white pearls of the finest water. A loose, knee-length cream skirt with a black lace trim brushed against brown bucket-topped boots with a silver braid trim. She too had a sword and a pistol at her hips.

They grinned at him. Victor had drawn his rapier – the guard an elaborate fancy of feathers picked out in white gold – and was pointing the blade in his direction. "Avast, ye Navy dog!" In his other hand he held a black flag that looked like… yes, there was a white Jolly Roger.

James groaned, and rested his forehead briefly against one of the spokes on the wheel.

This did _not_ promise to be good.


	4. Piracy

A/N: they're running away with the story, aren't they. TT Also, I'm not sure when the first water gun was invented, but it surely can't be difficult to make a mechanism that squirts water and fit it into a pistol, right? Heheh. Historical inaccuracies continue. Also, it might be a little quick for deductions, but this was really meant to be a short five-part story. TT doesn't look like that's possible now…. Hmm.

4

Piracy

"I refuse to take part in whatever the both of you are planning," James said icily. "I'm _working_ at the moment, thank you very much."

"That be great," Katherine's feigned brogue was as outrageous as her brother's. "In th'light o' those facts, our dastardly plans will surely succeed!"

To James' horror, Victor sheathed his sword, tucked the flag into a belt at his waist, and began to climb the rigging. He motioned quickly at a marine, who took over at the helm, and stalked forward – Katherine stepped instantly into his path, once he was off the bridge, grinning impishly. James glared at her, then looked up at Victor. "Victor! Get back down here this instant!" A glance back at the sister. "What the hell are the both of you _doing_?"

"M'goin' t'put this 'ere flag up on th'mainmast," Victor said cheerfully, though he paused in his climb to indicate the flag at his belt.

James' mouth worked for a moment as he attempted to process this particular set of ludicrous twins-antics, and he took a deep breath. And another. Then he growled, "Victor. You are coming down here _right now_."

"Make me!" the Earl stuck out his tongue, and continued to climb.

James rubbed the bridge of his nose. A yelp from above made him look back at Victor sharply – the Earl had slipped alarmingly, though with surprising agility had hooked himself back on the rigging, righted his body, and with another impish grin, grabbed for the next rope. His sister merely giggled, seemingly unaware that a drop, even from where Victor was currently at, could cause broken bones.

With a low oath, James sidestepped Katherine, dodged the grab she made for his sleeve, and made for the rigging. Experience and longer legs meant he caught the infuriating twin before they got high enough for a slip to be definitely lethal – a grip on one slender wrist, hooking an elbow in the rigging, the other deftly grabbing the flag and letting the wind take it. The Jolly Roger fluttered out into the sea. Victor pouted.

"Now. We are going down, before you attract any more attention than you already have," James growled. Below, the few lords and ladies who had decided to enjoy the morning breeze were peering at them in curiosity.

"It's nice up here. Bracing." Victor's velvety baritone was pitched in a whine, one hand holding on to the brim of his hat. Tassels and wheat-gold hair were pulled into a wild mane by the dancing breeze.

"Victor."

"Fine. I'd climb down, if you turn a little bit that way… yes, just like that." Victor watched him until James realized that now, with his back facing the guests on the deck, Victor could…

Cool lips brushed against his own in a brief, playful caress, while teeth gently nipped at a lower lip. James' eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in outrage. "_Victor_!"

"Whatever you can do in retaliation, it'd still have been worth it!" Victor yelled back cheerfully, as he began to scramble down the rigging.

James snarled, the morning's dark mood forgotten in the light of a sudden need to do violence. "When I get my _hands _on you two…"

Katherine helped her brother down onto the deck just as James clambered down, furious. Both twins drew their blades with bright grins of pure mischief. "And we say, avast, Navy dog! Ye'd never take us alive!" she crowed.

James would have, even in his current murderous state, still declined to draw steel on a lady, if it wasn't obvious to his trained eye that both twins were surprisingly versed in swordsmanship – in their easy stance, knees slightly bent, blades steady. And they more than deserved a thrashing.

"Prepare yourselves for a trouncing," he growled, and drew his own sword.

--

"Sir?" Mercer, at the door.

"Yes?" Beckett looked up from where he had been perusing a thick volume on the economy in Jamaica.

"There's something up on deck that you might like to see, sir." Mercer said in his inflectionless voice. "A duel."

"Pah. Let my chivalric, bloodthirsty peers kill themselves if they want."

Mercer persisted – unusual, for him. "It's the Rear Admiral, against Lord and Lady Tembury-Lysander."

_That_ made him get up and dress.

News of the duel had spread fast amongst those who were awake – marines, sailors and members of the nobility stood in a large ring on deck, occasionally laughing and cheering either side. Near the rail, Norrington and the twins danced in a deadly weave of steel. Norrington's captain's coat was ripped in several places, but neither the Earl nor his sister seemed to be any the worse for wear. The reason for that presented itself in the next moment, as the Admiral, easily sidestepping a lunge from Lady Katherine, whirled, deflected a vicious slice from the Earl, feinted and drove his blade past the other man's guard. At the last moment, the edge turned, the angle changed delicately, and Norrington smacked the flat of his blade into the Earl's shoulder. Recovery and a slight twist, and he parried the thrust from Lady Katherine at his back, without even looking around.

Lord and Lady Tembury-Lysander were grinning, a little breathless, as they leaped back, circling, their grace resembling dancers more than swordsmen, though the way they handled themselves – and the wordless teamwork – spoke of more than adequate skill. It was probably unfortunate that their opponent had a reputation, even in London, for his mastery of the blade.

Norrington stood absolutely still, a smirk on his face as he watched the gaily-dressed pair stalk slowly around him. His free hand came up, four aristocratic fingers beckoning in a lazy challenge. The marines cheered their commander.

Victor attacked first, to Norrington's side – a guarded swing, metal shearing against metal as he pushed his weight against crossed swords. The Rear Admiral had obviously been waiting for Katherine to come at him while thus occupied – peripheral vision, likely – and he dodged the kick she aimed at his knee. Her sword arced upwards – and was caught by the barrel of a drawn pistol. Beckett realized that he had been holding his breath.

The twins sprang back again, as Norrington holstered the gun, and at some hidden signal, immediately lunged, one always aiming for his back, seeking flaws in his guard as they seemed to drive him back towards the rail. Abruptly, the Rear Admiral whirled, coat blurring, and kicked the Earl in the abdomen. As Lord Victor staggered back, gasping, against the rail, he parried Lady Katherine's blade, twisted his wrist deftly, and sent the rapier spinning. He caught the hilt on its downward arc, twirled it deftly until he was holding the blade, and threw it like a spear. The blade stuck, quivering, in the mizzenmast.

The Earl, upon straightening up, found the tip of a blade against his throat. "Yield." Norrington said coolly.

Lord Tembury-Lysander pouted, but abruptly sprang to his side. Growling, Norrington turned to chase, then arched an eyebrow when he saw that Katherine had drawn her pistol.

She grinned at him. "Bang. You're dead." And pulled the trigger.

--

The sudden wet on his chest almost made Norrington drop his blade in shock. The twins had… they had…

His brain informed him dryly that unless he had been eating something really odd, his blood was certainly not transparent. Besides, there had been no gunsmoke smell, nor impact, nor pain.

James looked down at the growing damp on his coat, and sighed. "Water?"

"A water gun!" Katherine informed him, merrily. And squirted him again.

"Oh, _good grief_… hey!" Norrington brought up his hands to shield his face when Victor attacked with his own water pistol from the side. Their audience roared with merriment, as he was soaked, wig included, despite his best efforts. With a growl, he started towards the nearest twin – Katherine – only to find that they were both running for it, laughing like hyenas, disappearing below decks with surprising speed.

James took a deep breath, then shook his head wryly. "Mister Evans. Could you take the helm until I get changed?"

"Aye, sir," the helmsman nodded, without even the hint of a smile, wandering up to the bridge. James turned to the marines. "Lieutenant Forrest, get that blade removed from the mast and have it delivered to my rooms."

"Yes, sir."

A glare at the crowds dispersed them – though James realized that Lord Beckett, wearing a faint smirk, was waiting for him at the stairs down to the lower deck. The silent bodyguard-manservant-whatever stood behind him, expressionless.

He definitely didn't want to handle the man right now, bet or not bet. However, he managed a polite smile when he had to walk past.

"Congratulations on your victory," Lord Beckett said, his tone amused.

"Technically, I lost," James said dryly, as he went down the steps, mildly irritated to realize he was being followed. "Lady Katherine made a good point. In an actual battle, I could have been shot."

"Or you could have shot either of them," Beckett pointed out. "Your skill with the blade is as remarkable as I've heard." It wasn't flattery, just a comment, but (or perhaps because of that) it pleased James far more than it should.

"Thank you," James said, turning to regard the other man, his lips curving into a genuine smile before he realized it. Beckett's eyes widened slightly, and the smirk faltered.

James found himself inviting the man to dinner.

--

After changing, James went to the twins' cabin and nodded at the two guards outside it, entering after a knock. James entered the room and closed the door.

The twins were dressed sensibly again – Victor in a robin-egg blue waistcoat and a yellow silk shirt, embroidered dark leather pants; Katherine in a dress of the same blue, with frothy white lace dusting cleavage and wrists. She wore black gloves, Victor wore white. Both were seated at the rosewood desk in their luxurious chambers, sunk within obscenely plush chairs, papers again in a haphazard mess over the surface, one stack precariously eclipsing two cups of cooling coffee.

Obviously, they hadn't been expecting him to visit them – he hardly ever did check in on them in their private cabins, when there wasn't an obvious emergency of bad weather, or a pirate sighting. Arched eyebrows, though their recovery was quick. Katherine got to her feet when Victor's right ring finger curled slightly. "James! To what do we owe the honor of this visit?" Playful. She slipped in front of him, blocking his immediate view of the closest papers, placing both slender gloved hands on his shoulders and pouting. "By the way, I'm _terribly_ jealous. You're my fiancé, but Victor got to kiss you first."

That was true. Although the twins had definitely attempted, many times, over the years, to try and do things to his person (jokingly or otherwise), James had always managed to successfully evade them. The incident in the rigging had been the first slip.

James gently but firmly pulled both wrists away, trying to look over her shoulder without making it seem too obvious. "It wasn't reciprocal, I can assure you."

Katherine pressed her body up against his, purring, breasts distractingly soft and warm against his chest, leaning upwards, lips parted. "I demand fairness. You have to kiss me."

No sound from Victor – that itself was suspicious. James looked over Katherine again – and specifically, at Victor's hands. The Earl of Southsend was surreptitiously shuffling some papers under others.

James carefully pushed Katherine away, exerting his superior strength, and stalked over to the table. Before he could reach it, though, he was tackled by the Earl, who had moved with startling speed. Automatically, he shifted himself to cushion the impact, grateful for the thick carpet, though a misplaced elbow in his stomach knocked him breathless. There was a gleeful laugh from Katherine as her brother sprawled over James' arms, and she knelt down.

For the second time in the day, James found himself kissed against his will. Katherine's lips were softer, but she had boldly made use of James' gasp of surprise to push her tongue into his mouth, flicking it against his, playfully, for a moment, then pulling away, grinning. "Now we're even." The faintest hint of spice.

James propped himself up on his elbows, growling, reminding himself that outrage was exactly what the both of them were trying to provoke. "What was this morning all about?"

"We thought you might want a break from brooding," Victor said, still in his undignified sprawl over James' abdomen and lap, and looking annoyingly comfortable.

So the incident had been staged for his benefit.

Well, he _did_ feel better – he always did, after swordplay. And it had been a relatively harmless way to dissipate the mounting exasperation he had felt at their behavior.

But that didn't forgive them. Much.

"I wasn't… _fine_. But the fault lies within the both of you," James snapped. "Stop that." He shifted his weight, using the other to bat away feminine fingers attempting to remove his skewed hat.

"We could… make it up to you…" Katherine and Victor purred, at the same time, with the same pause. Victor tugged suggestively at his silk collar, while Katherine leaned forward, emphasizing her cleavage. James took a deep breath, and rolled his eyes.

"You could both make up for it by letting me look at the papers on your desk," he suggested.

"It's just boring, confidential East India Company stuff," Katherine said dismissively. "We don't look at _your _confidential dispatches, do we?"

"I'm sure you have," James said dryly.

"But not in your presence," Victor added.

"You both owe me for this morning. And I don't think those _are_ dispatches."

"Oh, come on. Don't tell us you didn't enjoy thrashing us at swordplay," Katherine grinned mischievously.

"You hit me a lot harder than you hit Kathie," Victor grumbled, gingerly touching fingers to his ribs. "I'd be black and blue tomorrow."

"You deserved it," James replied, unmercifully. "And I didn't hit Katherine."

"That just makes my point more valid. Gender discrimination." Victor stuck out his tongue. Katherine sprawled against James' back, putting her chin on his shoulder and wrapping arms tightly around him when he tried to jerk away. Perfume. James tried growling in warning – but both twins merely chuckled.

"The both of you could use some work on your stance and technique," James said, hoping to bore the both of them off him. He didn't want to resort to physical violence for the second time in the day.

"We really started with fencing, for fun," Katherine said, jaw moving against his shoulder. "We haven't really done much work outside of using foils."

"You could teach us," Victor suggested, with a wink.

"I'm working." James said pointedly. "And besides, the both of you are adequate enough to take out most opponents, especially if you're working together. Further training is a little unnecessary."

"What did you visit us for?" Victor asked, snuggling to get more comfortable. James tensed, then made himself relax – wrestling with the both of them would likely only play into their wishes.

"To tell you that Lord Beckett would be dining with us tonight, again."

Katherine whistled. "You work fast, sweetheart."

"It's not meant to… I wasn't going to… I didn't…" James began. He glowered when both twins snickered. "What?"

"We told you he was your type," Victor smirked. "Repressed young English Lords. I bet he's the vocal sort in bed."

"The type who'd spread his legs and beg for more," Katherine purred, in a salacious tone absolutely unbecoming of a young lady of breeding.

James flushed, then bared his teeth, shaking his head. "The two of you are incorrigible."

"We're right, you'll see," Victor grinned wickedly. "We _are_ going to win the bet, you know. When we find out, we'd tell you."

James had a sudden, disturbing mental image of Victor, Katherine and Lord Beckett in stages of undress, with Victor between open thighs, Katherine lazily claiming kisses from whimpering lips. Pinned, delicate wrists.

_The type who'd spread his legs and beg for more_. In a voice normally distant and cold.

Not a good mental image.

Definitely.

Very disturbing at that.

Ahem.

He shifted a little uncomfortably. Victor's eyes gleamed. "Why, _James_…"

James growled. "Get off my lap."

Victor pouted, but didn't budge.

Katherine was chuckling. "We really should be insulted. That you don't find us attractive, but when we speak of Lord Beckett you… heh." Another chuckle.

Flushed, annoyed, and embarrassed, James said the first thing on his mind. "That's not true."

"What's not true?" Victor inquired, with a smile of pure innocence. "The bit about not finding us attractive, or about Lord Beckett?"

James began to speak, then clamped his lips shut. He refused to dig himself in any deeper than he already had. Through the maddening irritation and embarrassment, he remembered. Papers. On the desk. That Victor had been hiding. He took a few measured breaths, then rolled suddenly to his feet, forcibly displacing the Earl of Southsend, prying apart the arms around him. Dodged the grab they made for long legs, and reached the table in a stride.

If memory served right, some of the papers Victor had hidden were right there…

He pulled out some pages – and frowned. There was a small painting of a bird with iridescent blue plumage and a white breast, a long, sharp beak that speared a fish. Vague memories of London and his mother, who had been an amateur ornithologist, provided the name. "A kingfisher?"

The text under the picture, though neatly written, was obviously encrypted. Doggerel. James managed to glance briefly at the scattered papers before someone – likely Katherine, by the size of the fingers – clapped hands over his eyes. The paper was jerked out of his hand, and from the sound of it, the papers on the desk were being pushed into rough stacks.

"You're terribly single-minded, darling." Katherine sighed, from behind.

James decided to put his faith out on a bluff. "If you both don't tell me, seriously, what is going on…"

"Mm?" Victor was pressed against him, from the front. Finished with the papers then. Warm breath against his neck.

James took another steadying breath, and decided that, whatever could happen to their peace of mind if the bluff turned out to be well placed, it was a long time in coming. "If you don't tell me, then at dinner, I'm going to mention the word 'kingfisher' to Lord Beckett."

From the sudden silence and the stiffness of Victor's slighter body, he could tell that the wild guess had struck home.

Gloved fingers slipped from his eyes. Katherine pressed into his back. Arms encircled him tightly from both sides. A low voice, against his spine. "You don't want to do that, James."

He looked down. Victor had buried his face against his inner coat. Their obvious distress tugged keenly at his heart – he even began to feel a little guilty, for threatening them. James sighed, and patted fine gold hair. "Really. What's wrong?"

"Don't want to tell you." Victor murmured.

"Don't want to lose you," Katherine added.

Faced with that, he couldn't find words. Stood and breathed evenly for a while, felt the heartbeats against his chest and back, heard the slightly unsteady, hitched breaths on either side of his frame. Closed his other hand over feminine fingers pressed in Victor's side. Perfume, aftershave, coffee and cigars. Warmth from two bodies. Eventually he whispered, "It may not be obvious, but I care."

A soft laugh – Katherine's. "We know."

"And the both of you don't need to protect me."

Victor shook his head, face still pressed into starched fabric. "Not in this case."

"What is 'kingfisher'? What does it have to do with Beckett?" James asked, as gently as he could.

"James." Katherine's voice was almost inaudible. "Throw the bet."

"What?"

"Let us win," Victor elaborated. "We'd let you approve the name for the ship beforehand."

"To hell with the damned ship. You want to win – why?"

"Or…" Katherine continued, "Just drop the bet altogether. We'd leave you in peace for the four agreed months. Word of honor."

James took a deep breath. "Victor, Katherine. I'd rather be closeted with the both of you, for a bloody _year_, at your most troublesome, than have anything happen to either of you."

Fingers shifted and tightened in his coat. Another sigh. "Sorry. James, we just can't. We can't." Katherine moved her head – cheek against his back now. "Don't insist. Please."

"You're both trying to protect me." It wasn't a question.

"Some secrets are dangerous," He felt, rather than saw, Victor's wry smile.

James looked at the table. Some names could be seen on the scattered sheets. Well – there were other ways of finding out that didn't involve upsetting the twins. It was distinctly unnerving, seeing them this way.

"All right. I won't ask either of you further."

Twin exhalations of relief, then Katherine tensed first. "You'd better not ask Beckett."

"Oh _please_, I have better sense than that," James drawled.

"And the bet?" Victor asked, suspiciously, finally looking up.

"Is still on." James smirked, and pressed his lips to soft wheat-gold hair, squeezing Katherine's gloved hand gently as he did so. Narrowed blue eyes. James gently disentangled himself, and grinned at identical sets of worried features. "See the both of you at dinner."

"_James_…" Exasperation, from both twins.

James glanced back at them, with a raised eyebrow and a wry smile. _Now you know how it feels like_.

They were silent, as the door closed.

--

No whist tonight – the twins had apologized, claiming exhaustion from the morning's duel, merrily blamed the Rear Admiral, and retired first. Beckett had managed not to frown. As much as their act had been spotless, again, there seemed to be something a little off – they appeared slightly distracted. It could, however, simply be weariness from the morning's duel, of course.

"Coffee?" Norrington asked, as servants brought in a pot and cups. Beckett hesitated, then nodded and remained in his seat. A faint and irrational sense of unease at being left alone with the Rear Admiral caused the suppressed anxiety to surge back, which he forced down with some effort, deliberately scalding his tongue on the hot liquid. The pain cleared his mind.

He settled for safe topics, up until it could be polite to leave. "What is Port Royal like, Admiral?"

"It's not a big town," Norrington said, with a faint smile. "And mostly it's a Naval port, I'm afraid. Trade around the area is usually handled in Kingston. I'm surprised, actually, why the East India Company chose to base its offices in Port Royal rather than in Kingston."

"I do believe it has to do with tradition rather than practicality," Beckett said, allowing a disinterested tone to creep into his reply. "The previous set of offices was in Old Port Royal, after all. And besides, the role of the Port Royal posting of the East India Company is partially for the purposes of Naval relations."

"The previous Lord didn't give me that impression," Norrington chuckled. "He was always around the fort demanding something or other." Wryly, "I'm afraid the marines had a name for him, behind his back. It wasn't particularly flattering."

"Lord Sythe, I think?" Beckett purposefully sounded vague, and neutral. "Poor man. Weak heart. Don't worry, Admiral. I can assure you I'd be somewhat less of a pest." A faint sneer.

Norrington's eyes darkened, and when he spoke, his voice was a deep purr that (to his consternation) created a stab of heat in an inconvenient aspect of his body. "I doubt I'd mind having you around the fort, Lord Beckett." Just as quickly, the Admiral's demeanor changed, returning to his normal equilibrium. "I suppose having Lords of the Company about is better than pirates."

"Pirates?" Beckett repeated, struggling for a moment, anxiety from the worry that he could just have slipped warring with rationality. Self-control won out. Lord Beckett smirked. "I do beg your pardon, Admiral, but I find it hard to believe that pirates would dare to set foot in the heart of your jurisdiction. You _are_ the 'Pirate Hunter', after all."

"Sane pirates don't," Norrington nodded, a little wearily. "Insane pirates, unfortunately…"

"Insane… pirates?" He curled fingers into the armrests. _No, no_…

"A fine specimen of a mad pirate, known popularly in the Caribbean as Captain Jack Sparrow, seems to have taken it upon himself to wander about Port Royal whenever he has nothing better to do," Norrington said wryly. "Despite the best efforts of the marines. He has the devil's luck. So don't be too startled if you happen to see him being chased about town – it's almost becoming commonplace."

"I… I see." Beckett took a slow breath, inwardly cursing himself for stammering. His fingers were clamped tightly on the rests now, and they felt… no, they shouldn't, he just washed them before dinner… but they felt…

"Lord Beckett?" Concern.

Beckett managed to keep his voice steady and his mask in place. "I must apologize, Admiral, but it seems I'm feeling a little under the weather. Please excuse me."

"Of course," Norrington said quickly, getting to his feet. Beckett managed to keep his hands from shaking until he was out of the cabin and next to Mercer.

--

Within the Manticore cabin, James leaned back in his chair and finished his coffee, his eyes half-shuttered, lips curved in a thoughtful, languid smile.


	5. Stables

A/N: more historical inaccuracies. Also, I did a few searches on google for the breed of Beckett's horse, couldn't find it, and decided to go with predictable. And somehow, the equestrian theme wandered into the story without James…

5

Stables

James opted to mingle the next morning at breakfast, instead of eating with the other officers of the small honor guard of marines that had been posted to the frigate. A discreet background check on the passenger list had informed him which lords were affiliated to or part of the East India Company, and after a brief glance around the dining area to make sure neither the twins nor Beckett were about, he seated himself at their table.

"Admiral," an ascetic, middle-aged man with impressive gray whiskers spoke with solemn dignity, in greeting. Lord Rockham, on his way to a posting in Boston, his posture speaking of a military background. All four of the seated lords were dressed in unprepossessing colors – dark blue, grays and browns, gold thread the only form of embellishment. Come to think of it, so did Lord Beckett – the twins were the only flamboyantly dressed exceptions.

"Good morning," James ventured, as he helped himself to cold meats and bread. He had never previously made any effort to acquaint himself with this particular group of men – and he could tell that they were curious, despite carefully schooled expressions.

The men glanced at each other, then, surprisingly, to the slumped, half-awake looking, portly form of Lord Calder. From the passenger records, James had rather thought that Rockham – as titled old blood – would be the 'lead' of this group – Calder was the third son of a merchant prince, who had bought title, and was attending a niece's wedding in New York. White hair fought a losing battle over a domed scalp, thin lips obscured under a walrus moustache. Calder regarded James thoughtfully with watery gray eyes, and then smiled faintly. The lords relaxed almost imperceptibly.

Lord Thom was the next to speak - the youngest of the group, he was dressed somewhat more formally with white wig and cravat. His posture and too-bright blue eyes spoke of excess. "Admiral. I had the pleasure of observing your duel on the deck. Your skill with the blade is indeed incredible. Small wonder that the Navy in the Caribbean appears to be keeping piracy well in check."

There were murmurs of congratulations from the other lords. The fourth – the elderly Lord Kambers, didn't look up from buttering his bread with slightly palsied fingers. His voice was querulous. "Indeed remarkable. But you may have to take it upon yourself to teach some restraint to Lady Tembury-Lysander, Admiral. That sort of behavior is unbecoming for a descendant of such a respected ancestry. I was a fourth-removed cousin from her father, the late Earl, and I always felt he let them run a little too wild."

James suppressed the irritation he felt at Kambers' tone and decided to play the part of a besotted fiancé – he lowered his head slightly, and smiled. "Lady Katherine is extraordinary."

Arched eyebrows, from Lord Rockham and Lord Thom, a murmured, "Of course, of course," from Lord Calder.

"That may be so," Lord Kambers said, a little reproachfully, "But I am glad that she is finally settling down. Her family was beginning to despair of it, what with her brother the Earl letting her stay with him in Montserrat rather than sending her into society in London."

"My good fortune, it would seem," James grinned, inciting chuckles from Lord Calder – and a split second later, from Lord Thom. "Actually, I need your help with another issue?"

"What issue, Admiral?" Lord Thom asked.

"My base of operations is Port Royal, as you all are well aware of," James said, seeking to seem hesitant. "And, well, I'm afraid to confess that I didn't exactly get… along, with the late Lord Sythe."

Kambers nodded sagely. "Not to worry, Admiral. Lord Sythe was not easy to… swallow, especially in the final years of his life. A fine agent of the Company, of course, but… a difficult man, even in his youth."

Calder chuckled. "He fell out with Lord Horne in Bombay, and everybody thought Horne's patient verged on saintly. That's why he got posted to the Caribbean, I'm sorry to say. For putting up with him for three years, we of the Company really should issue you some sort of thank-you letter."

"It was a fairly unpleasant three years," James said wryly. "And I wouldn't like to repeat the experience. So I'd like to know about his successor. It might be a little paranoid of me, but…"

Rockham's smile held the faintest hint of amused disdain. "Say no more, Admiral. We understand." He ate a bite of buttered toast. "Lord Cutler Beckett… hn. The second son of Lord Christopher Beckett. Bought his title, I believe, some years back. Perhaps sponsored – commendable work in his previous postings."

"A horse fanatic and a true horseman. Inherited his family's stable – his brother has no interest," Lord Thom said, sipping coffee. "I lost a sum of money to him at the track, a few years back, racing my animals against his stable. I do believe his prized stud is on board – Caesar. He takes it along with him to every posting, I hear." Wryly, "Seems to me like a waste of prime horseflesh, especially since the voyages cut across the breeding seasons, but we're all entitled to our little peculiarities."

"I don't think you have anything to fear, Admiral," Calder's smile was polite. "Judging from Lord Beckett's record, the man might be a cold one, but he has done fine work in the field, and has proved himself capable of diplomatic relations with the Navy."

"I confess I am not too familiar with how the Company operates," James said, wryly. "You mentioned previous postings, Lord Rockham. But as far as I am aware, the Earl of Southsend has always been at Montserrat."

"Ah. Well. The Company does make allowances for personal preferences, and Montserrat does happen to be the Earl's home – it's well known that he prefers it to his family estates in Southsend within England," Lord Rockham shrugged. "But for those who have no such preference, often the Company utilizes our skills in different postings and occasionally rotates us, unless we request otherwise. For example, I am about to take up a position in Boston."

"But it's usual to be re-posted every few years?" James asked, keeping his tone merely curious. "So I should expect to have to reacquaint myself with another representative of the Company in Port Royal, after Lord Beckett's term is over?"

"Unless he requests otherwise, of course," Calder said absently, as if it wasn't important.

"He is a wide traveler, I believe," Lord Thom pointed out.

"Who… eh… controls the postings?" James asked.

"A council in London, Admiral," Calder smiled. "The members of whom are secret, for various reasons. But not to worry, the Earl will never be reassigned against his will." James smiled, as if that had been exactly what he had been worried about. "They reassign agents and balance power within each territory."

"Balancing power?"

"Oh yes. We can't have Lords starting up their own private empires," Calder shrugged. The others were silent. "Not only would it be bad for the reputation of the Company, it is also rather makes for inefficient commerce."

"So what does the Company do, in that case?" James arched an eyebrow. "Given that Lords cannot be reposted if they do not wish to be."

Calder smiled faintly. "We have our ways." Absently. "You might, however – just a friendly little warning, of course, given the hospitality we have been shown – like to speak to the Earl of Southsend, sometime. It's no secret that he has been building quite the power base for himself, within Jamaica. And I have heard it said that it sits a little uneasily with London. It is entirely possible that measures may soon be taken."

"If they haven't already been," Kambers murmured.

James nodded, slowly. "I thank you for your honesty."

--

The stalls on the lower deck for animals were kept surprisingly clean – at least the section devoted to horseflesh, at least. The livestock were kept separate, in pens, and partitioned off – only bleats and the occasional murmur from cattle could be heard. The horse stalls were obviously for visiting nobility. There were eight in total, four on each side of the ship, and a small pen for walked exercise. Grooms worked in silence, mucking out stalls, brushing down the horses, scrubbing the deck, changing the rushes. There were four other animals in the stalls other than Caesar – a chestnut mare with bright eyes and a white forelock, thoroughbred. Two dapple gray Percheron horses who snorted and tossed their manes at him – Beckett smiled a little wryly. Warhorses, likely to be yoked to some carriage for a nobleman's amusement. A steeldust quarter horse stallion, silent, browsing oats.

Caesar whickered at the scent of his master, turning its proud head. It was stabled next to the Percherons, and was currently being admired by none other than the Earl and his sister, dressed casually in matching clothes of unadorned green woolens. They turned to look at him – Lady Tembury-Lysander had been in the act of petting Caesar's muzzle.

For a moment, Beckett rather regretted having sent Mercer to observe Norrington, but he rather doubted he had to worry – both the Earl and his sister were unarmed, and they had no apparent underlings about.

"Lord Beckett," the Earl smiled. "Good afternoon."

"Lord and Lady Tembury-Lysander," Beckett inclined his head. He glanced at the other steeds, supposing that they would have to do for conversation. He had rather been hoping to be alone (ignoring the handlers and the grooms, of course, unimportant commoners) with Caesar to steady himself. "I had no idea you traveled with such expensive horseflesh."

"Oh. No, the Percherons are ours," Lady Tembury-Lysander said, walking forward and stroking the mane of one of the large dappled horses. "But the mare is Lord Calder's – a gift, I think, to relatives – and the stallion is Mister Zachary's, back from loan to London."

"Carriage horses?" Beckett asked, watching how the stallions snorted and stamped when he moved a step closer to inspect them. Hot-blooded pair. The handlers employed on the _Petrel_ had to be remarkably skilled, to even get them to settle in such a confined space.

"No, no," the Earl looked mildly aghast. "Riding. Kathie and I prefer the Araby breeds, of course, but when our agents informed us about this pair we just _had _to buy them."

"Your stallion… Anglo-Arabian?" Lady Katherine asked, without looking around. "An eventing horse. Better at dressage or show jumping?"

"Three quarters Arabian," Beckett nodded, relaxing a little. He could handle this sort of conversation. "And Caesar handles excellently in all events, including cross-country, but is best in show jumping."

"Really?" the Earl smiled boyishly. "Kingston has an equestrian event in five months or so. It would be a pleasure to compete against you, if you were so inclined to enter. My Ares would be glad of the challenge."

"Artemis will still take the cup at dressage," Lady Katherine said over her shoulder, playfully.

"Araby horses?" Beckett asked. "From London or Boston?"

"From the deserts," the Earl grinned, with evident pride. "We can show you in Montserrat, whenever you have the time to visit. They're our pride and joy, though I have to confess they cost something ludicrous."

"Are the rest of the Sleipnir stable as fine as Caesar, Lord Beckett?" Katherine was petting the stallion again, which looked a little surprised, if gratified, at all the attention to the point of whickering softly. Odd. Normally, Caesar was disdainful of any attention that didn't stem from its master.

"No, but there are some fine foals this season that hold promise," Beckett said, and flinched slightly when a warm arm was draped over his shoulder. Lord Tembury-Lysander smelled of horse, coffee and ink. This close, the ice-blue eyes were hypnotic, though the boyish grin was directed at his sister.

"Thinking of poaching, Kathie?" The arm stayed, despite surreptitious, polite attempts to shrug it off. Beckett was thankful for Caesar's proximity – outside of the stables, it was entirely possible that the anxiety could have caused him undue embarrassment.

"Obviously," Katherine chuckled, with a backward glance at Beckett. "Though I'm not sure if Lord Beckett would consent, really."

"Maybe after he sees how ours perform in eventing," The Earl turned a charming, playful smile on the slighter man. "I'm told our flying changes are picture-perfect." There was innuendo there that somehow managed to surprise Beckett – the Earl's voice was a rumbling purr, breath tickling an ear. "Ares also has a gorgeous pirouette…" the Earl turned them both, firmly, and Beckett found himself pressed against the longer body, facing the other man. "…and passage." He was walked slowly backwards before he realized it – his back pressed into something soft. Lips brushed briefly against an ear. Lady Katherine.

Beckett made a strangled sound of protest as arms wrapped around his waist from behind, shocked, and managed to collect himself with a deep breath of the stalls' warm, animal stink. Stiff, cold tones of outrage. "Lord and Lady Tembury-Lysander. Please unhand me."

Soft chuckles and far too much silky gold hair – in his vision, over his shoulders. Ice-blue eyes. A warm hand tilted up his chin, and lips pressed over his. A choked gasp – the Earl's tongue slipped into his mouth, leisurely rubbing over teeth, then tangling with his own. Warning bells in his mind – but he was kissing Lord Victor back, a little clumsily. A breath, and lips claimed his again, skilled and confident. His fingers were curled in green wool. Small fingers against his belly made him jump slightly – his mind informed him, with some panic, that Lady Katherine had navigated the buttons on his shirt, fingers curiously exploring warm flesh.

Handlers… the handlers… a sidelong glance. The men were working silently, apparently not even noticing how their employers were in the midst of seducing a man in the middle of a rather public area.

The Earl purred into the next kiss. Distracting nuzzles and nips against the shell of his ear. Beckett was panting, the harsh sounds foreign to his ears. An animal in heat.

That particular analogy brought him up short.

What was he _doing_?

Getting seduced by two of the most beautiful people he had met to date.

Getting _seduced_, by targets.

Any further and he'd be compromised… _oh_, that was good.

_No_.

Beckett attempted to push the Earl away, but hands caught his wrists and kept them on expensively clothed shoulders. And oh _God_, the other man was rubbing against him in a manner that made his blood sing, and that heat against his belly could only be…

"Victor? Katherine?" An amused drawl, from the lower-deck stair. Victor pulled back from the kiss, and smiled lazily at the Admiral.

"Hey, James. We're a little busy, so could you…" One hand freed his wrist, and waved dismissively at Norrington.

"There's a Lord Calder looking for the both of you," Norrington said mildly, his eyes flickering over Beckett's somewhat disheveled state in curiosity. "Up on deck."

"Could you be a sweetie and distract Calder for an hour?" Katherine asked, a little plaintively. Beckett's free hand grabbed her wrist as slender fingers moved to his breeches.

"Two hours," Victor amended, turning back to Beckett, his grin holding a sly, salacious promise that made him bite down a moan.

"Unfortunately, it's already been an hour, and he got tired of my company." Norrington folded his arms.

Victor and Katherine pouted. A quick kiss was pressed to his nose, another to his neck, words whispered into both ears by two different sets of lips, and the twins drew back – the Earl arranging his clothing. "Sorry about that, Lord Beckett. We'd see you later." An impish grin.

"Wear the wig less often!" Katherine added, as they disappeared up the stairs. Norrington watched them go, then chuckled wryly.

"Sorry about that."

"No, you were just in time," Beckett said quickly, turning around as he adjusted his clothing. He reached out to pat Caesar, which whinnied in pleasure. The warmth of the animal calmed his shredded nerves, somewhat. "Uh. Lady Katherine… that is to say, Lady Tembury-Lysander…"

Norrington's tone was indulgent. "They do so like to play."

"You don't… mind?" Beckett was aware that in the wake of what was a severe shock to his conception of self-control, he had lost his grip on 'Lord Beckett'.

Norrington tilted his head, with a lopsided grin. "I'll have to admit that we share the same interests." That deep purr, again. His unsatisfied, traitorous body flared with warmth. "Though I prefer to indulge mine in rather more comfortable surroundings."

"Ah." Dryly, the sarcasm of his mask creeping back into his tone – a good sign of restored composure. "In your chambers, I suppose?"

"That may be so," the Admiral said agreeably. "But at the other party's leisure. Dinner, Lord Beckett?"

Beckett shook his head. He knew he probably wouldn't be able to face dinner with the three of them until he had carefully thought things over. Motives, consequences and changing plans. "Perhaps next time."

"Very well, Lord Beckett. I'll be seeing you." Norrington bowed, playfully, and wandered up the stairs.

Deep breaths, then memory reminded him of Lord and Lady Tembury-Lysander's final words, murmured into his ear, and his calm was shredded again.

_We want to fuck you, Lord Beckett_.

Good Lord. What was he _doing_?

--

The twins were pouting at dinner, occasionally shooting him accusatory glares over the pork.

James contrived to look innocent, and ate in contented silence. Keeping tabs on the twins was too easy on the frigate, and he had reasoned that if _they_ wanted him to throw the bet, it meant that he should both cheat (within bounds) and attempt to win. The conversation in the morning had given him some clue as to what the twins could be worried about, regarding Beckett. If the man moved around posts as much as he did, and the twins were somehow distressed about his presence, and the picture of the kingfisher was accompanied with encrypted words, his best guess would be that 'kingfisher' was a code word, in the Company, for men who took care of agents who were accruing a little too much power. And the twins were indeed doing that… or so Lord Calder thought.

And it seemed, probably, that any outsiders who came across this little secret could get hurt. Taken out. James had come across many types of men in his long career in the Navy, and he knew the man Beckett kept beside him was a killer of the first water. His skill with a sword likely wouldn't be of much help against knives in the dark. And if he was… but no, the twins had far more in their arsenal than they let others believe. Besides, he rather doubted that the so-called 'kingfishers' (if indeed there were others beside Beckett) operated in such a manner.

Eventually, as he thought it would be, Katherine spoke. If the twins could be said to have a leader, it was her – for difficult issues, she made the first move, and Victor followed her cue. "Lord Calder certainly hadn't been looking for us."

"But no doubt he had much to talk about?" James smiled.

"Far too much," Victor muttered. "We barely escaped without pushing him overboard."

"James, we'd never have believed you capable of cheating," Katherine said reproachfully. "Or lying."

"Only when my opponents are cheating and withholding information in turn," James said mildly. "Mister Evans was suddenly extremely agreeable regarding shifts at the helm. Would occasionally disappear, in fact."

"Anyway, I think we won. We got the first kiss, and could have gotten far more if you hadn't interrupted. So the bet's off," Katherine said, sawing into a side of roast beef with a little more force than necessary.

"All right," James said, agreeably.

The twins regarded him suspiciously. It was such a novel change that he couldn't help snickering at them, which earned him identical pouts.

"So you'd stop?" Victor asked, a little hopefully.

"No," James smiled lazily. "Care for another bet?"

"_James_," a whine, from both.

Dryly. "I'm going to talk to myself for a while, and the both of you can listen."

Pouts.

"This so-called 'Kingfisher' is a person, or a number of persons, who work for the East India Company, and their identities aren't divulged, but their purpose is known to any Company agent." James said, as he sipped his wine. "And this purpose is for the elimination or crippling of any agent of the Company who accrues far too much power for himself."

An intake of breath, from Victor. Katherine stared at her wine.

"And you have reason to believe, somehow, that Lord Beckett is the 'Kingfisher' assigned to your cases," James continued, "Which is why he was posted close to Montserrat, in Port Royal."

Still silence.

"And so, given the caliber of his bodyguard and our agreement that the two of you stop any lethally ruthless activity, you're both trying to compromise his position and judgment, especially since he seems to be… uncomfortable on board a ship." James grinned. It was so nice to be right. "Yes?"

The twins looked at each other, then Katherine muttered, "Yes."

"And we were doing fairly well, up until you interfered," Victor said, in an aggrieved tone. "Whatever did you do that for?"

"Because Lord Beckett strikes me as a dangerous man, perhaps far more than his bodyguard," James said blithely. "And I doubt he would appreciate being toyed with."

"Then what do you think you're doing?" Katherine raised an eyebrow.

"Interfering," James said dryly. "Actually, wouldn't it be better, if the two of you were this worried about him, to simply petition whatever council rules the Company and just give up some of your influence?"

"Kingfisher doesn't only balance power, James," Victor said irritably, "He punishes, as well. Those who have crossed the line."

"But why send him now? The both of you haven't been… of late… unless in England…" Blank looks. James blinked, as something occurred to him. "The marriage agreement. That must have…" Still blank, but Victor's jaw twitched slightly. Ah. James sighed. "Good grief."

The conversation paused as the first course was cleared and the second was served.

"That's what we said, James," Katherine said quietly, when the servants left. "We don't want to tell you, because we don't want to lose you. We're aware that it's still possible, at least for people in our position, to petition London and give redress. But that means giving you up."

"I don't have to be _married_ to you to…"

"It means giving you up, James," Victor repeated, his eyes intent. "Never having contact with you again. Ever."

Wryly, though he felt suddenly cold, James said, "It'd be better than… well, whatever you're afraid that he can do to you. Won't it?" He would rather never see the both of them again in exchange for their safety.

Both twins chuckled softly. "James," Katherine smiled. "One reason why we have so much power is because we recognize and accept that ruin is always part of the gamble."

"We're not afraid of that," Victor agreed.

"We're afraid that he would somehow use you – hurt you – to achieve that ruin." Katherine said, solemnly. "And he's very capable of doing that. Judging from the reports we have of his other assignments. Kingfisher is ruthless."

James sighed. "The two of you treat me like I'm your weakness."

"Aren't you?" Playful grins that didn't really reach their eyes.

James suppressed the surge of irritation that question caused. "And I suppose Lord Beckett would think so, too."

Katherine nodded.

James smirked. "Then I should work towards correcting that status, shouldn't I?"

Suspicion. Victor finally said, "Is that why you want to…"

"Interfere? Yes. We're going about this wrongly, I think," James pointed out. "Instead of the two of you attempting to… compromise his position, we should compromise his view about me. Then if he tries to attack some other point in your 'armor', no doubt the both of you are well equipped and experienced enough to counter that. Yes?"

"We disagree," Katherine said flatly. "It's too dangerous."

"To you," Victor added, with a nod, over a mouthful of chicken.

"And the other way is too dangerous to the both of you," James replied evenly. "You haven't convinced me."

"You haven't convinced us," Katherine countered.

Victor began to chuckle – his sister looked at him, slightly startled. He smiled, reached out, and squeezed her hand. She looked away, with a soft exhalation of breath. When he spoke, it was with resignation. "Looks like the bet's changed then, James."

Katherine's smile was mischievous, when she glanced up. "We're still going to win, darling." Victor's eyes twinkled.

James laughed. It was good that their mood and confidence seemed to have been restored, at least. "You wish."


	6. Ruses

A/N: ok, finally some real beckington PWP. TT; Sorry it took so long. Also, like I said, this is a lighter beckington, so no BDSM. ;3 you guys had 8 chapters of it in Falconry-Jesses!

6

Ruses

Annoyingly enough, for the next two weeks Beckett kept to himself, refused dinner invitations by claiming illness, took only minimal visits to the deck or to the stables, and was always accompanied by Mercer (the twins had, after the first week, mentioned the name – it was apparently in the files). James would have felt frustrated, if not for how amusingly exasperated the twins were.

Also, with no real means to attain information when on a ship crossing the Atlantic, even the curious incident of Beckett's strange reaction to the mention of Sparrow's name couldn't be explained to anyone's satisfaction.

So he wasn't surprised to find them in his room when he came back from a discussion about the ship's course and potential piracy threats. Victor wore a crisp iron-gray shirt haphazardly tucked into pale gray breeches, while Katherine wore a smoky gray dress with stormy gray, shoulder-length gloves. Both were taking turns to scribble on papers, a board on the bed providing sufficient backing. Boots, pillows and empty mugs were strewn randomly on the deck, though papers were stacked neatly next to them on the bed. Victor waved absently when James closed the door.

He put pillows in a corner of the bed, boots to the wall and cups on the table, before sitting down, cross-legged, before them, and resting his chin on palms, elbows on the bunk. When they didn't speak, he said, dryly, "I hope you're not planning to 'lose' Mister Mercer over the side of the ship in the next storm."

That got a snicker from both twins. "Tempting, but unfortunately, no," Victor smirked. "Unless you're saying you allow us to resort to our so-called barbaric measures."

"I'm afraid not."

"Spoilsport," Katherine poked the tip of his nose with the quill, then continued to scribble.

"I was going to suggest a truce," James said mildly.

Both twins looked at him, then at each other. Victor repeated, cautiously, "A truce?"

"It's possible that if we work together," James said dryly, "We might be able to get around the problem of Mercer."

Katherine muttered something rude under her breath – it was fairly unfortunate that James caught the phrase 'chastity belt with knives'. He frowned at her – she stuck out her tongue at him. Victor sniggered.

"Well?"

"What do you suggest?" Victor asked, snuggling down on the bed, pulling a pillow under his cheek, body curled into an alarming angle.

"Diversionary tactics," James said blandly, as though discussing naval warfare.

The twins regarded him solemnly, then Katherine smirked. "We've corrupted you, James Norrington."

Victor pursed his lips. "It could just work, though. Sister. But the most plausible scenario would involve us being the diversion, I think."

Katherine pouted. "But I did so want to play."

"There might be a next time," Victor said comfortingly, then glanced at James. "Unless you have problems with sharing."

James raised an eyebrow.

"Don't act naïve, sweetheart," Katherine said dryly, "If you didn't want Beckett yourself, outside of our ulterior motives, you wouldn't be considering this method of defense above any other." The scribble conversation continued.

"Coffee?" James offered. He didn't deny it.

"Please," Victor smiled.

"Don't want to plan?" Katherine grinned.

"I bow in the face of your superior ability at scheming," James drawled, uncurling to his feet.

--

"Lord and Lady Tembury-Lysander," Mercer announced, from outside the door.

Beckett grimaced. Two weeks of peace had passed since that embarrassing incident in the stalls, and he had regained composure, some dignity and relative inner peace (as much as he could attain aboard the damned ship, anyway). As far as he could tell, Mercer's presence had put off any (unwanted) attempts at seduction, and he would much rather have kept it that way. Definitely. Dreams notwithstanding. Also, the Rear Admiral hadn't made any advances. Not that he was disappointed, of course (definitely). But the break allowed him to work on plans, not to mention the minor unrelated detail he had to handle in New York.

"Sir?"

"Show them in," he said, getting to his feet. The twins looked solemn, when they were ushered in – Mercer stood behind them, watchfully, at the door. "Lord and Lady Tembury-Lysander. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"We'd get down to business, Lord Beckett," Victor said in a clipped tone very much unlike his usual, polite drawl.

"Firstly, we'd have to apologize about the amount of… inconvenience, that we've put you through, since nearly the beginning," Katherine said in the same flat, disinterested tone. "You see, we had to make sure about something important."

"Which is?" Beckett asked, warily.

"Some time ago… information… came into our possession that the 'Kingfisher' would be one of the guests booked aboard our ship on this voyage," Victor said. Beckett didn't need to look at Mercer to know that the other man had straightened up, waiting for a signal to strike. "And naturally, we'll like to know who it is."

"So we've done checks on the Lords over the course of the voyage," Katherine continued, "And we think it's probably either Lord Thom, Mister Ratherthon or Lord Calder."

Lord Beckett arched an eyebrow – his mask perfectly in place – the relief and amusement didn't show. "I see." Dryly. "You do know that even trying to guess at the identity of the 'Kingfisher' would land you in trouble with the Company?"

"Oh, we'd claim responsibility," Katherine said dismissively, "It's just that we also attained information that you may be his next target. Which is why we've been attempting to keep close to you over the past few weeks."

"Mister Mercer is more than capable of doing so," Lord Beckett said, blinking. "And I find it difficult to believe that your motives may have been charitable."

Both twins smiled. "The late Lord Sythe was quite inconvenient, in Port Royal," Victor supplied. "We do hope that we can start off our business relationship on a better note."

"Little favors, Lord Beckett," Katherine elaborated, a little unnecessarily. "Do go a long way."

"So why tell me now?" Beckett asked. "Did something happen?"

"Oh yes. It seems 'Kingfisher' is likely to strike tonight. Don't ask us how we attained that particular intelligence," Victor said carefully, "After all, the less you know about it, the better you stand with the Company."

"What we suggest is that you leave us here in your cabin with Mister Mercer on guard outside, while you make your way to hm… the Manticore cabin," Katherine said. "The 'Kingfisher' will be occupied for an hour with a diversion we set up – after that he'd probably come here looking for you. He'd think that since Mister Mercer is in the cabin, that you'd probably be in there too. And then we'd confront him."

"Rear Admiral Norrington will guard you in the cabin," Victor continued. "As you have seen, his skill with the blade should be enough to ward off any attacker, should the ruse fail. Of course, he knows nothing about 'Kingfisher', only that he's to be on his guard for the night."

"And if there is no attack?" Lord Beckett asked, sounding skeptical.

"Then we'd give you further details of our sources and the nature of the tip offs, and you can analyse them. Perhaps we missed something," Katherine shrugged.

On one hand, he was naturally suspicious of any suggestion that he was to part ways from Mercer – on the other hand, he would definitely like to know anything about sources, misplaced or not, inquiring as to the Kingfisher's identity. Besides, it wasn't as though he was to sit in a room alone with the twins – the Rear Admiral certainly hadn't pressed his case, and Beckett's intuition told him that he had little to fear from foul play, from that man. He'd be bored for a few hours, then he would gain necessary information. And refusing to play to their ruse could suggest that he, in fact, was 'Kingfisher'. Which could be potentially lethal.

"I'll take a pistol," Lord Beckett said. Just in case.

--

Norrington stood up when Beckett entered the room – he smiled a little wryly, waved at the coffee and biscuits available on the table, and sank back into a chair, apparently reading dispatches. "I'm not sure what this is all about, Lord Beckett," he said without preamble, "But I apologize in advance if it's really another mad fancy on the part of my fiancée and her brother. Sometimes they forget how old they really are."

Beckett helped himself to coffee, adjusted the alignment of the tray without it being too obvious, and sank into a chair, surreptitiously arranging the folds of his coat to either side. "Company business," he shrugged.

Norrington looked concerned. "Something I should know about?"

"No."

The Admiral sighed. "They wouldn't tell me anything either." A page turned. "Oh. There was something else I have to… apologize for. Couldn't get hold of you for two weeks, so it rather slipped my mind."

"What else?" Beckett asked, almost absently, his mind busying itself considering the twins' motives.

"I notice I upset you, mentioning that pirate. Jack Sparrow." Norrington said, his eyes fixed on the dispatch, thankfully not noticing how Beckett had stiffened. "I was going to say, he doesn't really regularly visit Port Royal, no matter how I may put it, it's more of a… Lord Beckett?"

Beckett's shaking fingers had spilled hot coffee over his sleeve. In a flash, Norrington was at his side, prying the mug out of curling fingers, biting out an oath. "Your clothes…"

"I… it's nothing, it'd pass," Beckett hissed out, forcing fingers into his palms, the anxiety in full force – too far from his room, unable to return for an hour. "It'd pass…" He looked down at the irregular blotches on his gray jacket, and let out a choked gasp. His clothes were… his hands were…

"It doesn't look like nothing," A warm hand on a wrist, fingers trying to pry out tight fists. "You'll hurt yourself."

Short gasps. "Admiral… Admiral…" Water. He needed water. _Jack Sparrow_. Water. Weakness. _Jack Sparrow_. Nausea.

Lips pressed against his shocked him out of the spiraling thoughts that multiplied his anxiety. A light suck, on his lower lip. His mouth parted, even as his body seemed to relax, tension pulling out of his limbs to center in his belly. Warmth. The sea. Faint scent of grease – oiled swords. Musk. Dizzy, disoriented from the near averting of the panic attack, Beckett's body acted by itself – fingers pulled on the braided collar of the captain's coat, insistently claiming another kiss. A hungry moan – his throat, he realized, in a daze.

Sudden weightlessness – _being picked up_, his battered mind provided – then something soft – _blue velvet_ – under him. His eyes snapped up – a plush couch, against a wall (hadn't been there before)… suspicion melted away when lips pressed against his own. Insistent, demanding kisses, tangling tongues, wet sounds, saliva, a line down from the edge of his mouth. Beckett closed his eyes, struggling to focus. There was a reason why he hadn't wanted to… heat, between his legs. Which were wrapped around Norrington's waist. Hands clutching at buttons on the inner coat. Long fingers had worked out his cravat – discarded, on the floor – and navigated the ribbon in his hair. He was briefly, illogically glad that he hadn't been wearing the wig, as fingers raked through his hair and made the next kiss all the more sweetly persistent. Breathy moans (himself), growls (Norrington) as the Admiral attacked his throat with teeth and tongue. There would be marks in the morning.

A gasped protest. "Stop. Please." The entreaty was all _Beckett_ – the Lord had been stifled by clawing anxiety, only moments ago (yet half forgotten). "_Admiral_. Please."

"Listen to yourself," the purred response. Long fingers closed over his groin – his hips jerked into the pressure. A whine.

"Admiral. _Please_." He was no longer sure what he was begging for. Then Norrington's eyes darkened perceptibly, with lust – and he knew. Flushed. Warning bells smothered by need. Drowning in swollen lips melded to flesh. He didn't realize his shirt had been unbuttoned and pulled open until a warm hand stroked up his side – he arched. The world tilted, and he was on his back, head against one cushioned rest, the wooden spiral design at the tip liberally gilded in gold.

"Wait… aah!" Insistent squeezes. He bucked. Words of protest emerged as breathy cries "…_Ad-miral… no, don't…_". Fabric slowly spotting wet. Warm lips and a hot tongue, mapping a path down to nipples. Brown curls, escaping the ribbon as Beckett fisted fingers in the Admiral's hair, tickled his ribs "… _aah, please…_". Breath. Sweat. Sudden cold, as breeches were navigated and pulled down, roughly, then a whimper "_…n-no, don't…_" as fingers closed around him "_…unh, God…_". Hips jerked.

-cut for Full version at community-livejournal-com(beckington(18140-html, replace – with . and ( with / -

Timeless – sounds, hips, thrusts. Pants. Lifting his hips to meet his part of an ancient rhythm. Then a strangled groan, and a buck backwards "_…uhn!_". Spilled liquid, on warm fingers. A hiss, above him, then a foul curse, two sharper thrusts that made him choke "…_ahh, nh…!_". Heat. He sprawled on his side, when Norrington pulled away. Dazed, dizzy, he focused on the table with the cooled coffee, his breathing erratic. Managed not to think of the amount of sticky filth currently on and within him. The Admiral was leaning against the couch, his breathing unsteady, head bowed. Flushed cheeks. Darkness.

--

James put the now-stained towel in the basin and put that on the dresser. Asleep in an over-large nightshirt, marginally cleaned up, Beckett was curled under the sheets. James changed for bed – loose shirt, breeches – and spooned up against him, exhausted. It was a miracle that he'd managed to carry the man to his cabin without being seen.

He'd just pulled blankets up to his shoulders when the door opened. Half-turned with a growl, and suddenly had an armful of wriggling twins. Katherine peered over her brother's shoulder, and both twins began to laugh, silently, in the dark. James rubbed his eyes, speaking in a murmur. "Can't the both of you come back in the morning? And what did you do to the bodyguard?"

"We put something in his coffee," Katherine said softly, and grinned. "Funny, isn't it?"

James arched an eyebrow.

"Odorless, tasteless. We put it in the pot," Victor explained, "Except we ate the counter-agent beforehand."

"We _were_ going to check on you both, but there was a dreadful amount of noise," Katherine smirked. "So? Were we right?"

"…yes." James said irritably. "Now, _out_."

"No!" Both twins began to settle on the already crowded bed. And he didn't have the energy left to evict them. Wearily, James gave up.

--

Beckett woke to the sensation of an unfamiliar weight over his legs and arm, and far too much warmth. Sleepily, he opened his eyes – and frowned. Gold…?

Fingers came up and picked strands of pale gold hair out of his eyes. A gentle snore, somewhere to his left, and exhalations of different tones. The frown deepened.

When he carefully twisted up to sit, his back and rump reminded him, in sudden detail, exactly what he had done the night before. Though he didn't remember moving to… how had he…

Norrington was on his back, one arm hanging off the bed, cheek turned into the pillow, his tousled hair begging to be combed. Lord Victor had been the weight he had felt – as Beckett sat up, the Earl, in his sleep, immediately rolled into the warm spot he had just vacated, murmuring something about purple dolphins. The pale gold hair was Lady Katherine's, in a wavy mane over pillows, partially cushioned on Norrington's long frame.

The far-too-long sleeves of the shirt he was wearing pooled at his wrists.

And he didn't have any breeches.

Right.

Retreat seemed to be the best plan. Except that he was right next to the wall, and stealth looked difficult, faced with a sea of tangled limbs. He began to curl to his feet – and realized by the change in note in the Earl's tone that the man had woken up. Ice blue eyes looked him over in confusion for a moment, then focused. There was a playful grin as he was abruptly rolled back onto the bed. A voice husky from sleep. "Good morning. Had fun with James last night?"

"The message… was all a ruse," Beckett growled, or tried to. His voice was irritatingly hoarse, and he could only speak in a whisper.

"Of course!" Victor said, far too cheerful for someone whom Lord Beckett had never seen about in the mornings, save for that one instance in the duel. Lady Katherine pulled pillows over her head, however. Norrington rolled over to face his back to the conversation, with a muttered "…fucking _noisy_…" displacing her into the depression left by her brother.

"Sorry. Hear he's always like that after sex," Victor said, in a stage whisper.

Beckett rubbed his eyes, and groaned. He'd just had sex with the fiancé of one of the targets. Enjoyed it far more than he should have.

And that ruse last night only meant that they knew who he was.

Compromised. Sodomy. A hanging offence.

If London found out…

He looked up into knowing, ice blue eyes. Managed to sneer. "You realize I could still have you all killed."

"You'd have to kill many of the _Petrel_'s passengers, I'm afraid," Victor said with a bright smile. "You don't know how many people may have heard you last night, eh?"

A dry laugh, self-mockery. Conceding defeat. "True."

"You could wreck the ship, but with the escort so close, there'd be many survivors," Victor pointed out, unnecessarily.

"I know," he said, irritably. He needed to think. At least the soreness served a good purpose – it allowed him to focus. The familiar anxiety had been pushed away.

"So we have a proposition for you, Lord Beckett," Victor smiled, lazily.

A smirk that was mostly bravado. "I know."

--

Beckett walked out of an unprepossessing building which had a front as a slightly seedy looking bed and breakfast, accompanied by Mercer. A few words, and the man nodded and slipped away. He mounted Caesar, whickering and impatient, and rode down towards the main street. Absently listened to the brogue of passers-by as he guided his steed into a sedate trot back towards the harbor, picking out at least six different languages.

Given time and resources he would much have preferred New York as an intellectual exercise. With the unsteady power balance in politics, it would have proved fairly amusing, at least, for quite a while – even the minor business regarding careful inquiries as to the Episcopalian parties and their shifting loyalties – with the consequent potential impact on Company interests – was intriguing.

But he was stuck with Jamaica, and a very knotty problem that was seductively dangerous. Brooding, he almost didn't notice the twins on their Percherons, until he was flanked by the tall, snorting warhorses. The twins wore riding gear in outrageous shades of purple – royal purple hats and jackets, lavender breeches (skirt, in Katherine's case), smoky purple shirts (blouse), almost black boots.

"Let's go for a ride, Lord Beckett," Victor grinned, "There's a nice track a short ride from here, and the owner is a friend."

"I still have business to do," he said dryly.

"Mercer's not with you, so you don't," Katherine pointed out, cheerfully. Beckett winced. In one week, with much persistence, the twins had deduced far more about his habits than they should have. "Besides, we're well aware of what's down that street."

Beckett arched an eyebrow. "The two of you are in _so_ much trouble." That particular office of the Company should have been secret only to a few – but he was no longer surprised regarding the depth of their knowledge in the inner workings of the EIC.

"Always," Victor grinned, and pressed his heels to his steed. A surge of speed, and shouts of angry pedestrians, as the warhorse thundered away. Katherine let out a whoop, and followed her brother, expertly navigating scattering merchants.

Caesar quivered, whickering in excitement, but waited for a command. Beckett cast his eyes up to the blue sky, sighed, and gave him the bit.

The track was indeed well-kept, and empty at the moment save for jockeys exercising their thoroughbreds. He wasn't dressed for riding – eventually the wig and cravat felt too uncomfortable, and he pulled Caesar into a trot, the stallion snorting its displeasure but obeying. The twins took the large dapple horses into a canter, then slowed them to flank him again.

"So!" Victor said brightly. "Slept with James again since that night?"

Beckett choked.

"Probably not lately, or you wouldn't have been able to ride like that," Katherine said sagely.

Beckett rubbed at his temple. "_Lord and Lady Tembury-Lysander_…"

"That was _so_ James," Victor said, sounding impressed. "And it's _Victor _and _Katherine_, we've told you this."

"Since you've already been compromised, you should at least enjoy the experience in its entirety," Katherine smirked. "There are some really nice, discreet inns in New York, by the way, if you're interested."

"I may have agreed to present your case – along with your promise to cede influence in Port Royal and Kingston – to London in a favorable light," Beckett said stiffly, "But I don't think I agreed to having to listen to advice about my personal life."

"It's free advice," Victor grinned.

"Also, we don't like to see our James pout," Katherine added. "Probably as much as you wouldn't like to be involved in another ruse."

"Threats?" Arched eyebrow.

"No, promises," Archly sweet smiles, from the both of them. "Though, you know, Lord Beckett" – Katherine – "If somehow you _are_ tired of James, there's always…"

"I certainly didn't agree to listen to improper propositions," Beckett said icily.

"We're just outlining ways you can repay us for favors," Victor said cheerfully.

"Favors?"

"We're well aware of what happens to… compromised Kingfishers, if word got out," Katherine said. "Captain Jack Sparrow."

"Ah." Mounted on Caesar, the anxiety only surfaced as a tingling on his fingers, but his memory prevented vivid images that had failed to fade, even over the decades. "Your agents must indeed be remarkable, if they ferreted out that information."

"We don't know that much," Victor shrugged. "Other than that the code word for your predecessor was Sparrow, and his final task, which he failed at, was the deconstruction of the power base of Lord Christopher Beckett, in Calcutta."

"He succeeded, actually," Beckett said quietly. "My parents attempted to murder their children and then commit suicide. He arrived in time to stop them from doing the former, but was too late to stop them from the latter. Instead of finishing the job and preserving his identity he let us live. That constitutes a compromised Kingfisher – or Sparrow, in that event. He was branded a pirate – that was the cover story, at least – and meant to be killed by 'over judicious torture in the name of information gathering' by the Naval authorities', I think it was. Records of employment erased. My brother managed to free him. I haven't repaid my debt, though I was working towards attaining a pardon in exchange for some sort of sufficient consideration, to allay suspicion."

"I find it rather odd how you chose to fill his role," Katherine said wryly. Both twins didn't comment on the sudden extension of trust.

"So does my brother," Beckett shrugged. "But sad to say, it's what I'm best at, in the EIC. It provides the best intellectual stimulation." Something died, years ago, or was suppressed, after the gunshots that had claimed the lives of Christopher and Mary Beckett – its ghosts the anxiety that plagued him throughout his adult life, that threatened to strangle him at any reference to the moment, when far from any items of comfort, at sea. Sparrow's act hadn't been one of mercy, despite his intentions, but a debt was a debt.

"Ask the Company to transfer you permanently to Port Royal, Lord Beckett. That close to Montserrat, we can probably protect you," Victor said, patting the mane of his steed. "Kingfishers are allowed to retire, aren't they?"

"What makes you think I want to retire?" Beckett's lip quirked. "Or need your protection?"

"The way you look at James when you think we're not watching you," Katherine smirked. "So possessive. As to protection… well. It's merely an offer."

Beckett flushed slightly.

"Besides, what makes you think you won't have fun?" Victor asked, with a wink. "My sister and I haven't had a worthy opponent for longer than we care to remember. It could even only be a semi-retirement. Outside of the ceded power, you could try your hand at besting us at the game."

"We won't go easy on you just because James likes you," Katherine added.

Beckett concentrated, for a moment, on the perfection of movement beneath him, the steady rhythm of hooves on springy turf, the warm scents of horse and sweat. Snorts from the steeds, a whinny from one of the Percherons, the rocking gait. Pealing laughter and wheat-gold hair pulled into a weaving mane by the wind. Failures, and startling green eyes, a deep purr that promised to drown him in heat. Curiosity and challenge.

He smirked. "Caesar will trump your Ares in show jumping."

The twins grinned. Katherine was the first to push heels into her steed – it surged forward, as she called, "But we'd outrace you yet, even with these!"

Beckett urged Caesar into a gallop.

-fin-


End file.
